


Here We Mark the Price of Freedom

by Diamond_Raven



Series: Here We Mark the Price of Freedom [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Career Change, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Minor Domestic Violence Incident, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Past Suicide Attempt, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Virgin Steve Rogers, pet adoption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:19:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 175,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6263881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diamond_Raven/pseuds/Diamond_Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky needs help dealing with the after-effects of 70 years of abuse and neglect. Steve needs help coping with the severe depression he’s sunk into since being pulled out of the ice. Once they’re reunited, the two boys from Brooklyn help each other put the broken pieces of their lives back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Some tags don't apply to every single chapter. There are trigger warnings at the beginning of the chapters in which specific incidents take place or are referred to (suicidal thoughts, past suicide attempt, minor domestic violence incident), with details available in the end notes of those chapters. If you have any questions about these events, feel free to email me.
> 
> 2\. I have never been to Washington DC so all of the info related to Washington in the story is based on research.
> 
> 3\. I'm ignoring that Peggy is still alive in 2014. Sam will be a recurring character, and Natasha and Tony will be minor characters.
> 
> 4\. This story contains some links to external images as well as graphics that I've created for the story. If any of the links are broken or the graphics don't display, please let me know!
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story!

 

 

 

*             *             *

He leans on the escalator rail, letting the stairway carry him up to the second floor. He’s doing his best to ignore the incessant buzzing of his phone in his pocket.

He knows it’s Sam and he knows what Sam is going to say. ‘Sorry, buddy’. ‘Better luck next time’. ‘Maybe we should take a little break, recharge the batteries a bit’.

He doesn’t need to hear it. He knows they’re tired. He knows they hadn’t had any luck in months of looking, but the longer they don’t find him the more terrified Steve gets that they never will.

He doesn’t want to face that. Not now, not ever. They are going to find him. They _are_ going to find him.

To distract himself from having to make decisions about what to do next, he follows wherever his feet carry him, which end up bringing him to the Smithsonian’s American History museum more times than not.

Reaching the Captain America exhibit, he pulls his cap further down and hunches his shoulders as he squeezes past a chattering group of elementary school kids. Dodging a woman taking a picture of herself in front of the large display of the Howling Commandos mannequins, Steve makes his way to Bucky’s display.

_‘When Bucky Barnes first met Steve Rogers on the playgrounds of Brooklyn, little did he know that he was forging a bond that would take him to the battlefields of Europe and beyond.’_

Steve swallows hard, staring at the words. Just how far _beyond_ that bond had taken Bucky was something the world had never known.

He stares at the dates beneath Bucky’s name: 1917 – 1944.

Sam keeps telling him that the Bucky he had known was probably gone. Even if they find the Winter Soldier, he may not be Bucky. Maybe he stopped being Bucky a long time ago.

Maybe Bucky had really died 70 years ago and Steve is a fool.

No.

Steve is going to think positive and keep focused. Until they find Bucky or the Winter Soldier or whoever he is, and find out who he is today, Steve will hold out hope.

It’s not like he has anything else to hope for these days.

He slowly backs away from the glass display and makes his way to the bench in one of the corners. It’s right along the wall, the area around it dark enough that Steve knows he can sit here for hours and not have anybody notice him. The spot has a good view of Bucky’s display and the Commando mannequins with the enormous photo of all of them on the wall, so Steve is happy with this spot.

At this angle he can’t see the display playing the video of Bucky and him laughing together. That’s fine. Every time he sees that video, pain blooms in his chest, his throat tightens up and the tears come. Then he has to go lock himself in a bathroom stall and muffle his sobs in his sleeves until he has calmed down enough to venture out again.

He doesn’t feel like crying today. Instead, he makes himself comfortable on the bench and pulls out a small notepad and a pencil which he snagged from one of the education stations downstairs.

Tapping the pencil against the paper he chews on his lower lip, trying to decide what he wants to draw. Glancing around himself, he decides to draw his motorcycle. He sketches out the rough outline, stopping when he realizes he’s misjudged the scale and won’t be able to fit the whole bike on one page.

Grumbling under his breath, he flips to a clean page to start over. He glances up at Bucky’s picture on the glass display.

“You’d be smirking at me, making fun of me for that one,” he whispers before turning his attention back to the drawing.

The hours slowly slip by. People walk past him, speaking in hushed whispers, children run from one display to the next and cameras flash as pictures are taken.

Nobody pays any attention to the man on the bench, drawing a motorcycle on a notepad, sitting in a room full of ghosts from his past.

*             *             *

Walking through the sliding glass doors, Steve pulls his hat low and stops by the museum directory, trying to decide what he wants to see today. He hasn’t been through the ‘America on the Move’ exhibit in a while. He’ll swing through there before going upstairs to sit by Bucky’s exhibit.

Sam has been trying to get him to find some hobbies, now that they’ve agreed to take a break from their search for a few weeks while they refuel. He seems to think that Steve is clinging to the past too much and is having difficulty letting go.

What Steve doesn’t point out is that the issue isn’t that he’s _clinging_ to the past. The problem is he’s supposed to _be_ in the past and he isn’t.

Everybody else he knew is in the past, long dead and gone. Steve had been fully at peace with the idea of dying on Schmidt’s plane. He had already suffered through losing Bucky, which had left holes in his heart and soul that would never heal. Why on earth would he want to stick around and watch the rest of his friends die one by one?

Then he wakes up and finds out that he lost everyone all at the same time.

He knows that’s worse than if he had lost them one by one. At least that way he would have been able to mourn them one by one. But how do you mourn all of them at the same time? Every single person Steve had ever loved and cared about—gone. Between him closing his eyes on Schmidt’s plane, and opening them in the fake hospital room, he lost everything.

Steve never tells Sam any of these things. He knows Sam worries about him enough as it is. If he ever finds out how much Steve regrets not having died on that plane, he would probably reach a new level of concern. So that’s something that’s staying in Steve’s head.

There are many things that stay in Steve’s head that he refuses to share with Sam or anyone else. Also falling into that category are some minor details from his interaction with Bucky on the helicarrier. According to the official report, he and Bucky had fought until the helicarrier had broken apart, resulting in Steve’s fall into the Potomac below. The fact that Steve had dropped his shield and stopped fighting voluntary doesn’t need to be in the report. People would want to know why and Steve isn’t prepared to share the explanation; however rational he thinks it is. It’s none of their business that he had been fully prepared to let Bucky kill him if that’s what the Winter Soldier wanted to do. If the last, most important link to his life no longer knew him or cared about him, then Steve was more than ready to die, as he should have done on Schmidt’s plane.

No, those things stay with Steve and Steve alone. He doesn’t want to worry or bother anybody else about these things, none of which have an easy solution, as far as Steve is concerned.

He is supposed to be dead, but instead he was pulled out of his time and life and dumped into an incomprehensible world surrounded by strangers. He knows he doesn’t belong and no amount of talking about it will change that fact.

But being in the museum does help.

Sam has always been concerned about Steve spending so much time in the museum, but Steve always calmly and politely tells him it isn’t his business where Steve spends time, as long as he isn’t hurting anybody else.

And being here, amongst mementoes of his old friends makes the crushing loneliness in his chest ease somewhat. It makes him feel better, and that’s good enough for him. He has informed Sam that he will find a new purpose in life when he’s good and ready and until then, it’s a free country and if he wants to visit a damn museum he can do so whenever he pleases.

Steve shakes the thoughts out of his head. He _does_ have a new purpose these days. One part of his past had somehow, miraculously survived.

Not only one part, but _the_ most important part that he had ever had in his life. Probably the most important part he will ever have in his life.

Sam has always believed that Steve’s strong bond of friendship was his main connection to Bucky. The fact that what he felt for Bucky had always been much more than a brotherly love is another thing he’s never shared with anybody, especially not with the object of his affections.

Steve had known he had fallen madly in love with his best friend when he was thirteen years old and has never fallen out of it. He’s never minded. He can’t think of anybody else he’d rather be in love with, even if Bucky had never known.

He makes his way through the exhibit, stopping at the section discussing the introduction of container shipping in the 1960s and how life on the docks was changed forever.

He smiles to himself thinking about how Bucky might have ended up a crane operator, heaving these enormous containers through the air and onto the ships. He’d complain to the young lads constantly how they didn’t know what real work was, back from when the loading had been done by hand. Bucky’s hands would always be covered in rough calluses from pulling the crates up steep ramps with complicated pulley systems or carrying the heavy sacks on his back.

He’s so lost in thought that it takes a few minutes for him to realize someone is watching him.

He freezes and then discreetly glances around himself. The cap makes it hard to check his peripheral vision but winding his way through exhibits and pretending to read the glass displays allows him to look around.

There’s an elderly couple over by the streetcar, and a family with two young children are coming out of the washroom—

—and leaning against the wall in a darkened corner of the exhibit is Bucky.

He has a dark cap pulled low over his face and he’s wearing jeans and a dark jacket. His metal arm is crammed into his jacket pocket and the jacket is zipped up despite the comfortable temperature in the museum.

Steve’s breath catches, shock freezing him to the spot. For a moment they just stare at each other. His heart is hammering in his chest, fueled by excitement and shock. Bucky has absolutely no expression on his face.

A gasp makes its way out of his mouth and he breathes out a faint “Bucky”. He takes a step towards him.

Immediately, a small frown appears on Bucky’s face and he takes two steps backwards, in the direction of the fire exit door.

Steve freezes, understanding. Slowly, he retreats a step. For good measure, he takes an additional step back.

They stand there, staring at each other. Steve is barely remembering to breathe, so scared that Bucky will disappear again.

When it becomes clear that Bucky isn’t going to run away and is waiting for Steve’s next move, Steve starts panicking and wonders where he should go.

Then he realizes that Bucky had been the one to find him and if Bucky wanted to be elsewhere, he would be elsewhere.

So Steve decides to carry on with his original plan. He slowly starts walking towards the escalator.

He risks a glance behind him as he goes.

Bucky has pushed off the wall and is following him. He keeps the same distance between them, but he’s following.

Steve still feels like he’s going to hyperventilate. Bucky is there. He is _right_ there.

He wants to grab him in the biggest hug the world has ever seen, bury his face in Bucky’s neck and never, ever let go.

He forces his feet to keep walking. Reaching the escalator, he starts the ride up to the Captain America exhibit.

He knows that Bucky would have one of two reactions if Steve makes a move towards him: fight or flight, and Steve doesn’t want him to do either.

So they ride up the escalator together, Bucky only stepping on when Steve is almost at the top. Steve keeps his pace even and relaxed, making his way past the height marker animation showing his weight and height pre and post serum.

He wanders past the Howlies and almost pauses before Bucky’s display, but decides that he should find somewhere more permanent to stay to see what Bucky will do.

He finds his way to his usual bench and sits, daring a glance around himself. It takes him a minute to spot Bucky–the darkness in the exhibit making it difficult to spot somebody who is determined to stay hidden in shadows.

Bucky has made his way across from Steve and is leaning against the wall in a corner. They can see each other through the glass of Bucky’s display.

There’s some sort of poetic irony in that.

He’s still staring at Steve with no expression on his face. Steve stares back, at a complete loss. He knows if he picks up his phone to call Sam, Bucky will be gone before Sam even picks up.

They stare at each other for a few more minutes, oblivious of the people passing between them. Even when people stop to read Bucky’s display, they continue staring at each other until the person has moved on and their stares reconnect.

Finally, Steve decides that probably neither of them know what their next move will be.

He finally digs out his notepad and pencil and forces himself to focus on those. He’s just doodling scribbles on the page, his hand and brain not connecting. His hand is shaking and his brain is screaming at him to grab Bucky and hide him away somewhere where he’ll never lose him again.

That’s not an option, but it doesn’t mean his brain understands that.

He glances up at Bucky again and finds him still staring at him.

At a complete loss, he decides to focus on drawing something that will hopefully calm his racing thoughts. It takes a few deep breaths before his hand has settled enough for him to start drawing. He decides to sketch the photo of Bucky from the glass display. It’s something he’s sketched so often that he could probably do a good enough approximation with his eyes closed.

His hand settles into the routine pretty quickly and his mind starts calming.

But every time he glances at Bucky’s photo to check a reference point, he also lets his eyes slide through the glass to the living version leaning against the wall, watching him.

Once he’s finished sketching Bucky, he continues drawing random things, whatever pops into his head, just keeping his hand occupied. At one point, he realizes he has to use the bathroom. He holds it for another thirty minutes, terrified that Bucky will leave if he moves from the bench.

But the demands of his bladder win out, and he slowly rises. He leaves the notepad and pencil on the bench and holds up a finger in Bucky’s direction, hopefully communicating that he would be back soon.

He hurries to the washroom and races through taking care of business before he’s stumbling back out, air-drying his hands and hurrying back to his bench. He immediately looks through the glass display, and feels a rush of relief when Bucky is still in the same spot.

Drying his hands on his pants, he picks up the notepad and pencil and resumes drawing.

They stay for hours. Steve ignores his grumbling stomach and Bucky never moves an inch, his eyes never leaving Steve.

Steve is in the midst of drawing the streetcar from the exhibit downstairs when a museum employee suddenly appears by his elbow, quietly informing him the museum was closing for the day.

He blinks up at her. “What time is it?”

She smiles politely, nothing in her expression betraying any recognition.

“5:15, sir. The museum is closing in 15 minutes so we’re asking all visitors to start making their way to the exit.”

He nods, thanking her and crams the notepad and pencil into his pocket. The moment she leaves, he glances at Bucky’s corner.

It’s empty.

Panic immediately sets in, his heart in his throat. No, no, no, no.

He jumps up, ready to rush around the exhibit, checking to see if Bucky was really gone.

Then logic sets in and he reminds himself that if Bucky wanted Steve to see him, he would see him. If he didn’t, then he wouldn’t.

He stands there, some irrational part of his brain telling him that if he stayed right where he was, Bucky would still somehow be there.

Then he realizes he’s being a fool. The only thing he can do right now is go home, get some sleep and come back tomorrow. Clenching his jaw, he turns his feet towards the exit.

He walks out of the exhibit, down the escalator and out through the sliding glass doors on auto-pilot. Not looking back, he forces himself to get on his bike and drives home.

He parks his bike and lets himself inside. He spends the rest of the night making up for the meals he missed during the day, dodging Sam’s questions when he calls, and heads to bed at an unreasonably early hour.

He barely sleeps a wink and is up at the crack of dawn. He throws together breakfast, jumps on his bike and heads back to the museum. Sam had helped him find a new place to live after his old place was compromised and neither had commented on the fact that Steve settled for a place that was close to the museum. It was a practical decision in Steve’s view. He hadn’t told Sam that.

It’s only when he rushes up to the museum doors and they don’t slide open, that he realizes the museum won’t open until ten. He sits on the stone steps and pulls out his notepad, doodling the flowerbeds beside him while he waits.

As soon as the doors open, he’s through and racing up the escalator, his brain humming.

Please, please, _please_ let him show. Please, please, _please_.

He hurries through the exhibits to his bench and sits down, his eyes immediately going to Bucky’s corner.

It’s empty.

His heart drops and he wants to cry.

Clenching his jaw, he wills himself to get a hold of himself. There are people starting to come in and he doesn’t want to make a scene.

Taking a few deep breaths, he tries to settle himself. Digging the notepad and pencil out of his pocket, he determines he’ll spend the day waiting. After all, he doesn’t have anything else to do.

Moments after he’s made the decision, he glances at Bucky’s corner again.

And there he is. Same clothes, metal arm jammed into the jacket pocket, cap pulled low, staring at Steve with no expression on his face.

A grin spreads on Steve’s face. He discreetly lifts a hand and waves to him. Bucky only stares back.

When it becomes clear that Bucky isn’t moving any time soon, Steve turns his attention back to his notepad, much more thrilled about his day.

*             *             *

In the early afternoon, Steve is starving and he decides to make his way down to the cafeteria. Putting the notepad and pencil into his pocket, he looks at Bucky. He brings his hands up to his mouth, miming the act of eating and then pointing down, trying to indicate where he’s going.

Bucky stares back at him, expressionless.

Steve pushes himself up and starts making his way back to the escalator. On the way down, he glances behind him and sees Bucky slowly trailing after him.

Smiling to himself, he wanders into the Star and Stripes Café. He doesn’t look around for Bucky. He knows he won’t come into the noisy, crowded cafeteria.

Steve gets two burgers, swings by the cashier to pay and grabs a handful of napkins from the dispenser. Then he goes to stand in the main lobby, eyes darting amongst the museum crowd for any sign of Bucky.

He sees him leaning against the wall, beneath one of the planes hanging from the ceiling. Steve holds up the burgers and nods his head towards the museum doors. He takes a few steps towards the door but Bucky doesn’t follow.

Steve holds out one of the burgers towards Bucky and then continues making his way towards the door. He makes his way outside and walks to the corner of the building where some bushes shield the view from the street. He wraps one of the burgers in napkins and puts it on the ground. Then he goes to sit on the stone steps and starts eating his own burger.

He keeps an eye on the door and finally sees Bucky stepping outside. Steve grins at him and points to where he left the burger.

Bucky sees the burger immediately but doesn’t touch it. He stays a few meters away from it, leaning against the wall and staring between the burger and Steve.

Steve slowly finishes his, hoping that Bucky will move closer to the burger.

Now that they’re out in the daylight, Steve can get a better look at him and his heart squeezes painfully in his chest when he sees how gaunt and hollow Bucky’s face looks. He looks exhausted and way too thin. Steve knows he’s been on his own for months and has been feeding himself somehow, but he hasn’t been too successful by the looks of it.

When Steve finishes his burger, he crumples up the napkins, wipes his mouth and hands and then shots Bucky a grin.

“It tastes real good, Buck. You should try it,” he softly calls over. He knows Bucky will be able to hear him. A few people entering and exiting the museum give him a strange look, probably thinking he’s talking to himself. He couldn’t care less about them.

He decides against reminding Bucky that burgers used to be one of his favourite foods, and how Steve had specifically asked for mustard but no ketchup, just the way Bucky used to like it. Steve has no idea if Bucky remembers anything about burgers and he doesn’t want to upset him.

They stay like that for long minutes, staring at each other.

Finally, Steve sighs softly. “Okey-doke, I’m heading back into the museum. You can eat the burger or just leave it for the birds.”

He pushes himself up and makes his way back inside. When he’s settled back on his bench, he pulls out the notepad and starts sketching the burger.

He keeps glancing at Bucky’s corner and doesn’t see him for a few long minutes. Steve is on the verge of panicking, thinking that maybe he had inadvertently scared Bucky off, but between one breath and the next, Bucky has materialized in his corner.

He’s got something clutched in his right hand, and he lifts it up, letting Steve see the crumpled napkins.

A relieved smile crosses Steve’s face and he gives Bucky a discreet thumbs up.

Then he turns back to his notepad and continues sketching.

Except for Steve having a bathroom break, they don’t move until the museum closes for the day.

*             *             *

“You’re saying the Winter Soldier is spending his days in a museum?”

Steve sighs. “Yes and no. I don’t know if it’s the Soldier or if it’s Bucky or a combination.”

“Well, what kind of things is he saying?”

Well. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“He hasn’t spoken a word to me. Not a single word.”

“Huh.” Sam doesn’t sound reassured.

“Listen, if he wanted to kill me, he would have done so already. He’s had plenty of opportunity. And if he wants to hurt the other people in the museum, he’s had lots of chances. Plus, he knows me.”

How much he knew him remained a mystery, but Steve believed deep down that Bucky knows exactly who he is.

Sam sighs softly. “Steve, if he ends up hurting somebody… I mean, there are kids in there all day, every day.”

“I know. But on the other hand, if I stop going he’s probably going to stop going and he’ll be wandering around in other places where there are also children. At least here, the situation is a bit controlled. If he does anything, I can hopefully intervene. But I’m telling you, he isn’t acting like he’s doing recon for a mission. He’s…” Steve trails off, not sure how to phrase what exactly Bucky was doing. Maybe Bucky himself didn’t know what’s drawing him to the museum or to Steve.

Sam waits a few beats before prompting him to continue. “He’s what?”

“He’s—I think he just wants to spend time with me. Maybe his memories are starting to return and he knows I’m connected to his past.”

Sam sighs. “Okay. So what you’re saying is that you found another excuse to spend your days in the museum, this time with an amnesiac former assassin for company.”

Steve snorts out a laugh. “It’s even better than that, Sam—we spend our days sitting in our own exhibit.”

Steve hangs up before he has to listen to Sam’s response. He thought his last comment was hilarious. Sam would probably just sigh sadly and Steve doesn’t need to hear it.

He goes to bed feeling lighter than he has since he woke up in that fake hospital room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the amazing feedback! I'm thrilled you're enjoying the story so far. In this chapter, the action is going to move out of the museum (eventually). 
> 
> The amazing [LABB](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB) has created a beautiful sketch for this chapter. I'm not directly linking to it here because it contains spoilers for this chapter, but I've added a link in the corresponding part of the chapter and I'll add another link at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

Days go by and they settle into a routine. Steve shows up at the museum when it opens, sits on his bench and sketches until lunch. Bucky always arrives within a few minutes of him and takes up his post across from Steve and watches him draw. Around lunchtime Steve goes down to the cafeteria and buys them bottles of water and something to eat. He eats on the stone steps and leaves Bucky’s lunch by the wall. He always buys Bucky an extra bottle of water and leaves it there too.

By the fourth day, Bucky unwraps the sandwich and eats it while Steve is eating his. Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off him, but Steve considers it progress.

After eating, they head back into the museum and resume their earlier positions until the museum closes and Steve heads home while Bucky disappears.

After a week of following routine, things change.

It’s quiet in the exhibit and Steve is wearing a new cap that he had bought a few days ago. It’s itchy and he decides the exhibit is empty enough for him to pull it off and scratch the irritating itch.

At that moment, a group of teenagers come bursting around the corner, part of a school group. A girl spots Steve before he has a chance to jam the cap back on his head.

“Oh, my God, it’s Captain America!”

Before he can blink, there are squeals and shrieks, flashes light up his dark corner and multiple excited people start advancing on him.

Before he’s swallowed up in the crowd, he manages to glance at Bucky.

Seeing the commotion, the impassive expression disappears from Bucky’s face and he looks scared.

Steve knows that look. It’s not the look Bucky had when Mrs. Mitchell’s crazy dog had suddenly leapt the fence and made a run for Bucky, rather, it’s the look that Steve had last seen when they were fighting on the train and Bucky had caught sight of a soldier taking aim at Steve while he’d been distracted fighting somebody else.

Fear, not for himself but for Steve is clear on his face.

Along with knowing what the look means, Steve also knows what Bucky will do next.

“It’s okay!” he shouts out, appearing to be talking to the excited students milling around him, taking pictures, peppering him with questions and holding out pieces of paper towards him, but really, he’s hoping a certain overprotective sergeant will hear him.

He struggles to catch sight of Bucky through the crowd and his heart sinks when he sees his corner is empty. He’s about to start fighting his way out of the crowd when he suddenly feels a hand grab the back of his jacket and he’s yanked backwards, out of the crowd and straight through the door of bathroom.

He stumbles when he’s released and just manages to grab the edge of the counter to keep from falling flat on his face.

“Buck, it’s okay!” He turns around and sees Bucky leaning against the door, blocking Steve’s exit. He’s also flipped the deadbolt, locking them in the bathroom. He’s staring at Steve, his eyes scared but determined.

“Buck, I’m fine. They’re just excited to meet Captain America. You remember how some of the guys we’d run into during leave at the bars would get excited about seeing me? You never saw how it was here at home, after the serum. People get really excited about seeing me, they just wanna take pictures and have me sign autographs, that’s it. They don’t wanna hurt me.”

Bucky stares at him flatly. Then he gives a curt shake of his head.

Steve knows that shake. It’s Bucky’s way of dismissing whatever Steve is saying, since Bucky is convinced he knows better in some situations.

_“Respect your elders, you knucklehead.”_

Steve would scoff and glare at him before resuming his argument. Sometimes he’d win, sometimes Bucky would, but Bucky never gave in without a bit of a fight.

Steve takes a few steps towards him. Bucky’s earlier apprehension about Steve coming closer to him is apparently taking a backseat to his other fear at the moment, because he doesn’t move from his spot at the door.

“I promise they won’t hurt me. You can stay with me while I talk to them, but they won’t harm me. Buck, we have to leave this bathroom and deal with the situation. We can’t stay in here forever.”

Bucky gives the air duct vent above their heads a pointed look but Steve shakes his head.

“No. We don’t need an escape route, we’re not in any danger. I promise. They’re loud and some can be a bit grabby, but they won’t hurt me.”

Giving Bucky a reassuring smile, Steve takes another step towards him. “Come on, let’s go out and get this over with. I promise I’ll be fine. Besides, I’ll have you to watch my back, right?”

Now that he’s closer to Bucky, he sees the tip of a knife blade poking out from the right sleeve of his jacket, which is long enough to cover Bucky’s hand.

Steve has a moment to hope that he isn’t hiding any guns, but on the other hand, he knows how deadly Bucky can be with just a simple blade. Technically, Bucky can be deadly with nothing but his bare hands. None of that is reassuring.

“Buck, I want you to promise you won’t hurt anybody unless my life is really threatened. You hear me? I swear on my ma’s grave that these people won’t hurt me.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, until Bucky gives a reluctant nod. Then he pushes off the door, reaches back to flip the deadbolt and pulls the door open.

Steve pushes through and pastes a smile on his face as he approaches the crowd around his bench. He feels Bucky falling back as they approach, and he knows he’s taking up a vantage position by the wall, close enough to see everything that’s going on but far enough away that he can overlook the crowd and gather momentum if he has to attack.

For a moment, Steve remembers a bombed Hydra base in the mountains and being so focused on climbing over rubble that he didn’t hear or see the Hydra soldier above him. He did hear the shot that took him down. He had known without even looking that when he glanced up at the ridge behind him, he’d see Bucky lying on the ground, not even sparing a glance at Steve as he reloads, eyes scanning for other dangers.

Steve waves at the crowd of teenagers, some of whom had dispersed, herded along by teachers.

“Hiya, folks. Sorry about that. Nature called. How’s everybody doing?”

And he’s off, posing for pictures, scribbling his signature on various items and answering questions. A teacher had made his way to the group when he noticed Steve’s return, and after a few minutes he moves them along, urging them to rejoin the rest of their group.

Steve waves after them and watches them move towards the little cinema room where Peggy’s movie plays.

When they’re alone again, Steve gives Bucky a smile. “Thanks, Buck.”

Bucky stares at him, then pushes off the wall and makes his way back to his usual spot.

Steve settles back on his bench and pulls out his notepad to resume his sketch of Dum-Dum.

*             *             *

On the morning of day fifteen, Steve is settling on his bench and digging his notepad out of his pocket when he feels someone sit on the other end of the bench.

Steve momentarily feels irritated at having to share his sanctuary, before he glances at the intruder and [realizes it’s Bucky](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10953420/chapters/24378495).

They stare at each other in silence, before Steve gives him a gentle smile. “Morning, Buck.”

He ignores the sudden urge to jump around with excitement and forces himself to focus on his drawings.

They split up for lunch, but after lunch they’re back on the bench together.

It should have been a beautiful moment, but to be honest, that’s the first time Steve starts noticing the smell. He’s accustomed to the way Bucky smells after not having access to bathing facilities for extended periods of time. Hell, he knows he got pretty ripe in the barracks from time to time too.

But all the years Steve has known him, Bucky has never smelled like a urine soaked garbage heap that’s festered in the sun for days. Part of it is probably the clothes he’s wearing. Steve has no idea where he’s found them, but they’re torn and stained and had obviously reached their best-before date a while ago. This close to him, Steve can see his hair is greasy and hangs in tangled clumps around his face. There’s dirt and other smudges on his face and he hasn’t shaved in a while.

It’s obvious Bucky hasn’t been taking care of himself. Maybe it’s because Bucky doesn’t know how to take care of himself or he’s having trouble accessing proper facilities and supplies on his own.

Steve has no idea how to bring this up. He has no idea how Hydra had dealt with the Soldier’s hygiene issues and he doesn’t want to risk scaring Bucky.

But then the choice is taken from him the morning a museum employee approaches the two of them, a tight smile on her face.

She’s heading towards Bucky, who tenses at the threat.

“It’s okay, Buck. It’s okay. Stay calm. I’ll take care of this. Just sit tight,” Steve whispers out of the corner of his mouth, before he’s taking off his cap and standing to greet her.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

The tense smile becomes a bit friendlier. “Good morning, Captain Rogers. I didn’t mean to bother you, but do you know the gentleman sitting beside you?”

He returns the smile. “Yes. He’s a friend of mine. He’s not too good with people.”

“I see. Well, we’ve received some complaints.”

Steve frowns. He knows Bucky hasn’t been threatening anybody in the museum, verbally or otherwise.

“What kind of complaints?”

The smile becomes strained again. “He’s… making some visitors uncomfortable.”

Steve blinks. He’s never heard Bucky being accused of making people uncomfortable. It was usually him who made people uncomfortable (in the pre-serum days), and then Bucky would give them a charming smile and tell them where they could stick their discomfort.

Steve decides that probably wouldn’t go over well. He decides to stick to friendliness for the time being.

“How so? He hasn’t been talking to people or approaching them.”

“It’s not that, sir. It’s…it’s his…” she falters, obviously not knowing how to phrase what she wants to say. “Can I be blunt?”

“Of course.”

“It’s the odor and his general appearance. It’s obvious the poor man is having some difficulties and I’m aware of how hard times can be, but we can’t have visitors making others feel uncomfortable.”

Steve nods. He doesn’t try fighting her. Quite frankly, if he hadn’t started getting accustomed to it, he’d be complaining too.

The whole situation makes his heart ache. Bucky had always taken pride in his appearance. It wasn’t like he used their food money to buy himself pomade, but when he did have a tin, he’d ration it out carefully and he’d always taken care of his clothes. He was always the one darning Steve’s socks back up and fixing clothes that were torn in fights.

_“You’re never gonna get a decent girl if you look like a mess, Stevie.”_

“I’ll make sure he gets cleaned up.”

She smiles gratefully. “Thank you.”

He nods, thanks her and then watches her walk away. Once they’re alone again, Steve sits back down and turns a bit to look at Bucky.

“Buck, I know you were listening. Do you have somewhere to shower, get clean?”

Bucky stares at him.

“Do you have other clothes somewhere?”

More staring.

“Do you want to come back to my place to have a shower?”

Nothing.

Steve sighs softly. “Buck, please. Give me something. I’m not gonna be mad if you don’t want to. I’m just trying to help. You’re gonna feel much better when you’re cleaned up, I promise.”

Bucky blinks at him and he shifts a little bit. Steve thinks he’s starting to look worried.

Sam had warned him about this. Life with Hydra had been full of routine for Bucky. He had probably learned long ago what his handlers did and didn’t want him to do. Doing the wrong thing probably meant trouble and consequences.

Bucky has no idea which answer Steve wants and he doesn’t know what sort of consequences he’d be facing if he gives the wrong one.

Steve tries to help. “Buck, there’s no wrong answer. You can come back to my place or we can go find somewhere else. Or we can leave the museum and sit outside if you don’t wanna shower.”

Bucky’s eyes have widened slightly, looking afraid. His gaze drops to the floor and he blinks a few times.

Steve can hear him starting to breathe faster and realizes with a sickening lurch that Bucky is having a panic attack.

“Okay, okay, Buck—it’s okay. I’m not mad.”

When Bucky still keeps breathing too quickly, his right hand clutching the edge of the bench, Steve nearly starts panicking himself, having no idea what to do. His hands grope in his jacket and he pulls out his phone. He scrolls through his contact list with shaking hands and calls Sam.

“Hello?” Sam’s voice is quiet. He must be in the VA. Steve immediately feels guilty for disturbing him, but Bucky is still staring at the floor, hyperventilating, his eyes huge and afraid.

“Sam, Bucky’s having a panic attack and I don’t know what to do.”

To his credit, Sam jumps right in. “What caused it?”

“He needs a shower. They’re gonna kick us out of the museum if he doesn’t. I asked him where he wants to shower. Then he started panicking.”

“How did you ask him?”

“I asked him if he wanted to go to my place, or find another place nearby, or if he doesn’t want to do it at all and go outside instead.”

“That’s too many options, man. He’s probably freaking out because he doesn’t know which one is the right one.”

Steve has a hand in his hair and realizes he’s pulling on it. “There’s no right one!” He barely manages to remember that they’re in a museum and have to keep their voices down.

“He doesn’t know that.” Steve marvels at the fact that Sam’s voice remains level. “He probably thinks he’ll be punished for picking the wrong option.”

Steve glances at Bucky, whose grip on the bench is so tight that his knuckles are white.

“So what the hell do I do?”

“Get rid of the options. Pick one and tell him that’s what you’re doing.”

“I don’t wanna force him—”

“He needs a shower anyway. No matter whether he wants to have one or not, he needs to have a shower. That’s a non-negotiable human activity that he’s gonna have to start re-learning how to do. As for where, I think the more privacy the better. You’re close to your place anyway. Head home and go from there.”

Steve nods. They can do that. He moves the phone from his ear.

“Buck? Buck, please look at me.”

Bucky jerks his terrified eyes off the floor and meets Steve’s gaze.

Steve pastes what he hopes is a reassuring smile on his face. “We’re gonna go shower at my place, okey-doke? You can get all clean and get some new clothes. It’ll be nice, you’ll see. But first, let’s go eat lunch. We can have burgers.”

Pushing himself off the bench, he keeps Sam on the phone as he starts heading to the exhibit exit.

Bucky doesn’t release his death grip on the bench until Steve is several steps away. Steve pauses and throws an encouraging smile over his shoulder.

“Come on, pal. Let’s grab some burgers.”

Slowly, Bucky pushes himself up and trails after Steve.

As they descend the escalator, Steve has a lump in his throat. He swallows hard and brings the phone back to his ear.

“Sam, I don’t know how to do this. I can’t—I don’t know what I’m doing!” he whispers, not wanting Bucky to hear him. He shoves the palm of his other hand into his eyes, forcing back tears.

“Is he following you? Did he stop panicking?”

Steve risks a glance behind him. Bucky has just stepped on the escalator, his face once more expressionless. Both his hands are in his jacket pockets.

“Yes to both.”

“That’s great! I know this is hard, Steve, but you can do this. I know you can. And you’re probably the only person in the world who can do this. But you won’t be alone, buddy, I promise you. I’m gonna help, and I have a boatload of resources and people who can also help.”

Steve swallows a sob. He’s never been more grateful for anybody in his life.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, focus. Get back to your place and have him shower. For now, just focus on establishing routine rather than forcing him to make a bunch of choices. Don’t ask him what shampoo he wants or what color towel, just set them out for him. He’ll eventually be able to make those choices, but not now.”

Steve takes a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“This isn’t gonna be quick or easy. This is going to take time. All you have to do is take it one day at a time and everything will be fine. That goes for both of you.”

*             *             *

Steve buys them lunch and carefully puts Bucky’s by the wall and sits on the steps to eat his. It takes Bucky a few minutes to approach the food and Steve feels terrible for having disrupted the little routine that Bucky had become comfortable with, but he does eventually pick up the burger and start eating.

Once they’re finished Steve realizes Bucky won’t go on the bike with him and he doesn’t want to call a cab and have Bucky freak out in such a confined space with an innocent bystander. He mulls it over for a moment before he decides to walk to his place. It isn’t that far and it’s a nice day.

“Come on. We’ll walk to my place.”

It takes a little while but eventually they make it to Steve’s apartment, Bucky walking a few steps behind Steve, watching his back. Steve opens the building door and holds it open until Bucky has darted through. They repeat the process at his apartment door and then they’re inside.

It’s clear that Bucky is uncomfortable being in unfamiliar surroundings. His eyes are darting around and he’s got both hands out of his pocket, ready to defend himself.

“You can look around, Buck. You can look everywhere and touch everything if you want. I’m gonna set up the bathroom.”

He leaves Bucky standing there and heads for the bathroom. He spends a moment contemplating the huge array of bath products he has crammed in his bathroom. He loves exploring the different types and smells of bath products that they have these days. There is so much more variety than the plain bar of soap they had been stuck with back in the day. Now he has dozens of different products. And if his showers take twice as long as they used to in the past because he’s using three different types of shampoo, that’s his business.

But he guesses the variety will overwhelm Bucky, so he grabs armfuls of products and shoves them in the cupboard beneath the sink. He also cleans off the countertop, leaving only the bare essentials.

Then he grabs a spare towel and a set of clothes from his closet and goes to find Bucky. He’s pleased to find Bucky has made his way into the living room and is busy peering behind the television when Steve interrupts him.

“Hey! Alright, come on. Shower time.”

Bucky dutifully follows him into the bathroom. At Steve’s coaxing, Bucky strips his clothes off and then stands naked, staring at Steve. Steve pauses for a moment, staring at Bucky. He carefully avoids staring at the metal arm and the hideous scaring that covers his shoulder where the arm is fused with his flesh.

“You’re losing weight, Buck. You lost a lot of muscle mass in the last little while, huh? We’ll work on that.”

Steve turns to the shower and switches it on. As soon as the water bursts from the showerhead and hits the shower floor, Steve catches sight of Bucky flinching hard enough to slam his shoulder in the wall.

Before Steve can move, Bucky has curled in on himself, eyes squeezed shut and hands covering his head.

A moment later, Bucky lets out a pained whine and slowly straightens. It obviously takes huge effort on his part, but he clenches his jaw and straightens completely, dropping his hands and staring at the far wall. His eyes are scared but resigned, as if he knows that this is something that has to be done, no matter how bad it is.

Steve finally unfreezes enough to turn the shower off. He takes a careful step towards Bucky.

“Buck, it’s okay. I turned it off. What don’t you like about it?”

Bucky still looks miserable and on the verge of tears. Steve takes another step towards him, fighting back tears himself. He knows better than to ask Bucky if he wants a shower or not. Obviously Bucky thinks he has to endure whatever torment he imagines is connected to the shower and won’t dare refuse.

Steve changes tactics.

He turns on the water at only half power but has the water flowing from the lower faucet. He flips the drain stopper down and lets the tub slowly fill. The sound of the water filling the tub is much quieter and less violent than the rushing water from the showerhead.

Once the tub is half full, Steve strips and lowers himself in the water. Bucky is watching him like a hawk and he takes a half step towards Steve as he sees him getting in, looking scared.

But Steve recognizes the look of fear as being for Steve, not for Bucky himself.

“I’m okay, Buck. The water’s really nice. Everything’s okay. I’m gonna wash up now.”

He grabs a washcloth (he has luffas and sponges of all shapes and sizes but they’re currently crammed in the sink cupboard) and puts a little bit of shower gel on it. Then he starts washing himself, moving slowly and carefully so Bucky can follow what he’s doing.

After he rubs shampoo into his hair, he turns on the lower faucet to a nice, calm stream and rinses his hair, gently and slowly.

As he goes through the motions, he quietly explains what he’s doing and why. As Steve works, Bucky edges closer to the bathtub until he’s crouched right beside it, down by Steve’s feet. He’s watching Steve like a hawk, following every moment with a seriousness that might suggest he was going to be tested on it later.

When he’s finished, Steve steps out and grabs a towel, wrapping it around his waist. He lets the water drain and runs clean water.

Bucky has remained crouched by the tub and is peering over the edge, watching the rising water with trepidation but interest.

“Okay, let’s put our hands in first, alright? We’ll test the water together.”

Steve puts his hand into the water and waits patiently. Bucky studies his hand for moment before he gingerly lowers his right hand into the water too. The moment he touches it, his eyes widen with surprise, and a tiny smile tugs on his lips.

“It’s nice and warm, huh? You wanna put your feet in?”

Steve sits on the edge of the tub and lowers his feet into the water. Bucky follows his lead and again seems pleasantly surprised at the warmth of the water.

Slowly, Steve has him kneel in the water, encouraging him to swirl his hands and then his arms in the water, getting accustomed to it. Bucky first only swirls his right hand in the water, but Steve encourages him to repeat the process with the left. He has no idea how much sensation the prosthetic arm has, but he thinks it would be good to try to treat it the same as his other arm.

Satisfied at his progress, Steve hands him the washcloth already covered in soap suds. “Just like I did it, Buck.”

Bucky begins methodically rubbing the washcloth over his arms, copying the order that Steve had washed himself in. It takes multiple passes of the cloth until Steve deems him clean enough to move on and they replace the water twice when it became too filthy to continue.

Bucky only pauses slightly when he has to switch the rag into his metal hand in order to wash his right arm, but at Steve’s encouraging smile he makes it through.

It’s obvious that he’s not accustomed to doing every day activities with the metal arm. Steve muses that Hydra probably ensured Bucky could use the arm as a weapon but hadn’t bothered teaching him to use it for other purposes.

Dealing with Bucky’s hair is more difficult. He readily rubs the shampoo into his hair, but he balks when it comes time to rinse his hair. So Steve cups his hands under the stream and gently pours it over Bucky’s head for him. After having washed his hair twice, Steve realizes the tangles would need some extra help.

“Hang on, Buck,” he rummages through the cupboard and pulls out a bottle of conditioner. He squirts a generous amount into Bucky’s hands and has him gently spread it on his hair. Then Steve shows him a comb. He pulls it through his own hair to demonstrate before handing it over.

Bucky begins pulling it through his hair. It catches on a knot of hair immediately and Bucky continues pulling, yanking even harder when it won’t go through.

“Buck, stop! Stop, you’re hurting yourself.” Without thinking, Steve covers Bucky’s hand with his own, halting the yanking motion.

Bucky immediately jerks away from Steve, eyes widening with fear. He releases the comb, which remains stuck in his hair and wraps his right arm around his knees and brings the metal one up to shield his face.

Steve feels his heart clench painfully in his chest. He swallows a few times until he’s sure he can speak without crying. “It’s okay, I’m not mad, just—Buck, I want you to do it without hurting yourself. You gotta be nice to yourself.”

Steve moves slowly and takes hold of the comb. He gently pulls it from the tangle of hair it’s jammed in, and begins slowly pulling it through Bucky’s hair.

He deliberately avoids all of the large tangles, letting Bucky calm down.

“See? No pain. It shouldn’t hurt.”

He decides they’ve done more than enough work for one day so he carefully rinses the conditioner from Bucky’s hair, leaving most the tangles.

They’ll deal with that another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you see the beautiful [art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10953420/chapters/24378495) which [LABB](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB) created showing Bucky sitting next to Steve on the bench for the first time?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful comments and kudos! This chapter switches to Bucky's POV. The story will continue switching between Steve and Bucky's POVs from this point onwards. Enjoy!

Bucky watches Steve use the towel on himself and then copies his motions. Throughout the bathing and the drying, he’s surprised to find the motions somewhat familiar. His body remembers doing such things, even if he can’t recall any instances of having done this.

Cleaning sessions with Hydra had never been like this. They would strip him and use a hose to get the worst of the dirt and blood off him. The water had always been freezing and Bucky’s first instinct would always be to curl up, to keep as much of himself protected from the biting cold as possible, until they used the electric rods to force him into a standing position.

This cleaning session had been nothing like that.

He finds he’s looking forward to future cleaning sessions if they’re all like this.

He’s surprised to find Steve handing him clothes that aren’t his. He knows his other clothes smell pretty badly, and if he was doing a covert mission that would definitely be a problem, but Hydra had always taken care of cleaning his clothes and he has no idea how to clean them on his own.

“It’s okay, Buck. You can wear these clothes and later we’ll get you your own clothes. Those other ones you were wearing didn’t fit you anyway and they’re in pretty bad shape.”

Bucky slips them on, enjoying the clean smell of them. He lifts up the hem of the sweater and sniffs it, a pleased smile on his face. He glances at Steve, slightly wary of the reaction. He doesn’t know if the sniffing was allowed or not, but he knows that Steve likes it when he smiles.

He doesn’t remember how he knows that, but he knows it’s true.

He’s relieved to find Steve smiling in response. Not a malicious smile nor a smirk, but a nice happy smile.

“Yeah, laundry detergents these days are insane. They smell so good you wanna eat your clothes.”

They make their way out of the bathroom and into the living room.

Steve sits on the couch and Bucky remains standing next to it, not knowing what Steve wants him to do. He knows asking questions irritates his handlers, so he decides to stay quiet until he receives some orders.

He doesn’t know if Steve would mind him asking questions. He thinks he probably wouldn’t, but he decides not to risk it.

Steve is staring at the small table in front of the couch, lost in thought. Bucky waits.

Finally, Steve raises his head. “Buck, where do you sleep at night?”

Bucky stares at him, not knowing how to answer the question. He doesn’t often sleep at night. He’ll nap here and there during the day, tucking himself into small nooks and crannies wherever he happens to find them. He prefers being behind the large dumpsters in the alleyways. People have a hard time grabbing him without him realizing their intent. He confines his napping time to daytime hours. Night time brings out the drunks, thieves and unsavory characters of whom he has to be more wary. Daytime brings the ignorant public, who either don’t see him sleeping behind the dumpster, or go out of their way to avoid him. But in general he doesn’t like sleeping. He has horrible dreams filled with blood, fear and screams. Sometimes he recognizes the screams as being his, sometimes he sees other people who are screaming. He doesn’t know if they’re screaming with him or because of him. Either way, he doesn’t like those dreams; staying awake is better.

Bucky isn’t sure if the question is a trap: Will Steve be angry if Bucky says he doesn’t sleep at night? If Bucky lies and tells him he does sleep at night and Steve finds out about the lie, how mad will he be then?

He decides to remain silent. He’s learned that not answering questions does have consequences, but generally fewer consequences than giving the wrong answer.

Steve sighs softly. That seems to be his standard response when Bucky doesn’t answer his questions. If that’s the extent of the consequences, Bucky will happy take it. Or maybe Steve is collecting his disappointment and there will be a larger punishment later. Again, a small whisper in the back of his mind tells him that Steve wouldn’t do that, but he ignores it. Better safe than sorry.

“Okay—I’m—I’m gonna give you my spare keys. You can come and go as you please. But if you have nowhere dry, warm and safe to sleep, then I want you to sleep here, okay? You can sleep anywhere in the apartment you want.”

He gets up and walks to the kitchen to rummage around one of the drawers. He pulls out two keys on a small ring and holds them out to Bucky.

Bucky takes them and sticks them in his pocket. He studies Steve’s face. He looks exhausted and his eyes are shiny with tears. Crying is not permitted. He clenches his jaw, thinking quickly.

Perhaps it was his refusal to provide an answer that upset Steve. Maybe Steve is in pain. Whatever it is, he has to distract Steve quickly before _they_ notice the tears.

Steve always seems pleased if he eats something so he mimes the act of eating, the same way Steve usually signalled to him when they are at the museum.

Steve’s eyes immediately light up. “You’re hungry? Okey-doke, we’ll get some food, Buck.”

He turns toward the kitchen, presumably to get them food. Bucky is satisfied that he’ll be sufficiently distracted from his need for tears for the time being.

He’s going to have to watch out for that.

Eating time is a bit strange. Steve makes some type of soup from a can and pours it into two bowls. He sets the bowls and spoons on the table and gestures for Bucky to sit.

Bucky stares at the spoon. He recognizes the device immediately, the name ‘spoon’ also immediately pops into his head, but he can’t seem to remember what to do with it.

He watches Steve as he picks up the spoon and starts eating his soup. Bucky grabs the spoon in a fist and starts copying the way Steve is shoveling the soup into his mouth. His hand isn’t holding the spoon exactly the same way Steve is, but Steve has that happy smile on his face so Bucky isn’t too worried.

After dinner, Steve shows Bucky the other two rooms in the apartment that he hadn’t seen yet. One room is where Steve sleeps. The other room has a bed with a bare mattress on it, a nightstand and an empty dresser and closet. “I’ll make up this bed and you can sleep on it, if you want. You can put stuff into the dresser or the closet too. You don’t have to. But I don’t use this room so it can be yours if you want.”

Bucky watches quietly as Steve gets some bedding and makes the bed. He’s paralyzed with indecision, not knowing if Steve expects him to get into the bed or not. When Steve is finished fussing with the bedding, he gives Bucky a smile.

“I meant it, Buck. You can use this room or not. It’s up to you.”

When Steve leaves the room, Bucky hesitantly starts following him. He figures that Steve will let him know very quickly if he was supposed to have stayed in that room, but when Steve just continues walking to the living room without a word, Bucky relaxes slightly.

Having reached the living room, Steve turns on the television and sits on the couch with a large sketchpad. Bucky surveys the room, looking for a good place to keep watch from. There’s a rocking chair in the corner, right beside the television. He squeezes behind the chair and leans into the corner. The apartment isn’t very large and from here he can keep an eye on the hallway leading to the bathroom and two rooms with the beds, as well as the front door and kitchen. The chair will also provide sufficient cover if he needs it.

At one point, Steve points at the chair that Bucky’s standing behind.

“You can sit on the chair, if you want.”

Bucky remains standing but does lean on the back of the chair. The metal arm is heavy and even after all these years he still has trouble standing for long periods of time without having something to rest it on. He allows the back of the chair to absorb the weight of it, sighing quietly as the pain in his neck and shoulders starts waning.

They remain quiet for a few more hours, until Steve turns off the television and informs him that he’s going to bed. Bucky had been quietly waiting for Steve to mention the room and bed, but neither are mentioned. In case Steve had simply forgotten about it Bucky stays silent and motionless, not wanting to risk reminding him. He knows he wouldn’t like being in that room. Lying on a soft, elevated surface is a strange concept, and not staying in a room with a view of the front door is foolish.

Steve stands up and heads for the bathroom. Bucky doesn’t know why Steve needs another cleaning session so soon after his last one, but he decides it’s not his place to question such things. He waits patiently in his corner, metal arm resting on the back of the chair until Steve comes back out. He has a pile of blankets and pillows in his arms which he puts on the couch.

Bucky is slightly puzzled over the large assortment of blankets, pillows and other bed type items which Steve seems to have, but then he remembers that Steve gets cold all the time. He needs to stay warm or he’ll get sick. Bucky is pleased that Steve has collected such a large assortment of things to keep himself warm.

He’s not pleased that Steve’s trying to give him these things. Steve is the one who needs the extra blankets, not Bucky. But he’s not sure if Steve would be upset if he’s reminded of that, so Bucky keeps the thoughts to himself.

“Those are yours to use for whatever you want, Buck. You can sleep anywhere you want, as long as you’re dry, warm and safe.”

Bucky nods, remembering his previous statement. It wasn’t an order, it also wasn’t a question that could be interpreted in a hundred different ways. It was just a statement. Bucky likes statements. And the statement hadn’t mentioned the room or bed, which Bucky considers an additional bonus.

Steve seems very pleased at the nod and bids him a good night before going into his room and closing the door. Bucky assumes Steve is going to sleep.

He stays where he is, keeping an eye on the surroundings. After an hour, nothing has changed. He quietly makes his way around the apartment, making sure the door is locked and checking each window in the apartment except for the one in Steve’s room. Finishing his circuit, he makes his back to the couch and sees Steve’s sketchbook.

He’s itching to open it and see what Steve had been doing. He’s seen some of the things Steve has drawn while at the museum and he likes seeing the sketches. He thinks he’s seen Steve’s drawings before, but he can’t remember where. The sight of Steve sitting and sketching is very familiar to him.

He quietly creeps to the room Steve disappeared into and listens at the door. The breathing from inside is deep and slow. He’s asleep.

Satisfied, Bucky makes his way back to the couch and gently picks up the sketchbook. He starts at the beginning and slowly leafs his way through it.

Many drawings are of the buildings in this area which he’s seen during his travels through the city. Other drawings are of everyday objects. Bucky immediately recognizes a sketch of a motorcycle as the one Steve rides. He smiles. He remembers being unsurprised when he had seen Steve riding around the city on the motorcycle during the days he had tracked him before making contact with him at the museum. He doesn’t know why he was unsurprised but he gets the feeling that perhaps Steve had ridden motorcycles in the past.

He’s pleased when he sees a sketch of an apple and he immediately knows what it is. There are some sketches of objects that he can’t identify, although some do feel familiar.

When he’s half way through, he’s surprised to come across a picture of himself. He recognizes his face, but the rest of him looks different. He looks the way he looks in the museum. Shorter hair. Leaner body. Cleaner face. A big smile on his face.

He flips some other pages and sees more sketches of himself. In some of them he’s wearing a uniform, but not the uniform of the Soldier. It’s a sharp uniform with crisp, clean lines. He’s wearing a tie and the uniform seems to have a lot of buttons. Though he doesn’t recognize it, the longer he looks at it, the more convinced he is that there should be a hat on his head. A big hat with a metal insignia on it. The dames had loved how sharp the uniform looked. Especially his hat.

His right hand reaches up and he mimes the motion of pulling the hat on his head.

Immediately after he does it, he jerks his hand down, staring around, terrified that somebody saw. Then he remembers he’s in Steve’s apartment and if _they_ find him now, they’ll be upset over a whole lot of other things he’s been doing, the least of which will be a faint muscle memory of pulling a hat on his head.

Deciding it’s high time to check the perimeter, he carefully closes the sketchbook and puts it down. He goes to the door and lets himself out, locking the door with the keys Steve had given him. He prowls along each floor in the apartment complex. Most apartments are silent, and the few that have noise don’t appear to be an immediate threat. He lets himself out of the building and does a check of the block. Along the way, he relieves himself against a tree. Then he gets back into the building, lets himself into Steve’s apartment and does a thorough check of all windows and doors again.

He pauses by Steve’s door and immediately becomes alarmed when he hears Steve is no longer sleeping. His breathing is hitched and wet. He’s crying.

Bucky glances around himself in a panic. _They_ haven’t heard Steve yet, that’s a relief. He has time to contain the situation.

He quietly opens the door and stands in the doorway. He sees Steve curled up in bed, facing the wall, his body shaking as he sobs.

He must have heard Bucky opening the door because he turns on the bed, hands immediately trying to wipe away his tears.

“Buck—”

Bucky hurries up to the bed and kneels on it, gathering Steve into his arms and presses Steve’s face into his chest, shielding him from view of the door and also containing any future sobs. He holds Steve with his right arm and keeps his metal arm free, ready to strike.

Steve has tensed at being pulled into Bucky’s embrace, but he relaxes almost immediately, arms clutching Bucky’s waist.

Bucky hears him breathing wetly for several long minutes. He hears him struggling to contain his sobs. He knows the feeling of wanting to cry so badly that it hurts, the immense pain that only seems to be soothed by the release of tears. He can’t remember when he last cried, but he does remember crying. It’s one of the most common dreams he has—him crying and whispering Steve’s name.

He can’t remember why but he remembers he used to do that a lot

He leans down so his mouth is right by Steve’s ear so he can whisper to him without being overheard.

“Cry quietly. I’m keeping watch,” his voice is hoarse from disuse, the words feeling strange in his mouth. But they seem to communicate what he wants to say because suddenly Steve is sobbing again, albeit quieter than before.

Bucky keeps Steve pressed to his chest, muffling his sobs in his sweater. Steve is muttering things between his sobs but Bucky ignores them, instead keeping his focus on making sure he’s listening for _them_. If _they_ came in and found them, Bucky would have enough time to attack before they noticed Steve’s crying. Then, if they accused Steve of crying, Bucky would have enough time to pull the blame on himself.

Steve would not be punished. Bucky would not allow it.

Nobody is allowed to hurt Steve. Bucky knows that as surely as he knew that the sketch of the uniform was missing his hat.

They stay like that for a long while. At one point, Steve has stopped crying and Bucky realizes he’s fallen asleep. He gently releases him and flips the tear stained pillow before lowering him on it. Steve stirs slightly from the movement but doesn’t wake.

Bucky pulls the blankets over him—Steve is always cold and Bucky will not allow Steve to be cold—and makes sure they are thoroughly tucked around him.

Standing up, he stares down at Steve. He remembers the blankets on the couch that Steve had given him. That wasn’t right. Steve needs the blankets more than he does. Bucky will not allow Steve to be cold or sick.

He hurries to the living room, grabs the blankets and spreads them over Steve.

Steve stirs and sleepily opens his eyes. He watches Bucky tucking the extra blankets around him.

He opens his mouth to say something but Bucky puts a finger to his lips, shaking his head. _They_ could still be listening.

Bucky checks the room’s door and window again to ensure they are closed and then makes his way to a corner where he crouches down, allowing his metal arm to rest of the floor. He’s pleased to see Steve closing his eyes and falling back asleep. Steve needs lots of rest so he won’t get sick. Bucky will keep watch.

He won’t allow _them_ to catch them by surprise.

*             *             *

The next morning, Bucky sees the exact moment when Steve wakes. He waits in his corner while Steve stretches and yawns. Steve blinks around the room until his gaze lands on Bucky.

“Good morning, Buck.”

Almost immediately, he runs a hand through his hair and then frowns down at himself. He throws the mountain of blankets off himself and Bucky can see that he’s been sweating.

“Hot damn, that was warm. A bit too warm.”

Bucky frowns, not sure if Steve is angry or not. And if he is angry, Bucky doesn’t understand why he would be.

“Cold is bad,” he says. There are a bunch of reasons why cold is bad. Cold leads to Steve being sick. Cold leads to a long sleep followed by waking and burning and pain. Cold leads to crying. Crying leads to a bunch of other bad things.

Steve looks at him, that sad look in his eyes again. “I know you don’t like the cold, Buck. You can have as many blankets as you want, but I promise, the room is warm enough for me not to get sick.” He points at a device mounted to the wall. A little dial with numbers on it. “That controls the heat. One blanket is good enough, I promise.”

Bucky frowns at him, not entirely satisfied with the explanation. But then again, Steve was always stubborn.

Steve gives him a gentle smile. “Thanks for looking out for me last night. I wasn’t feeling well and you made me feel better.”

Bucky gives a sharp nod. The gratitude is unnecessary; when one of them doesn’t feel well, the other takes care of him. That’s how it’s always been.

It’s another one of those things he can’t explain knowing, but he does know it.

Steve gets up and heads towards the bathroom. Bucky hears him doing something and then sees him reappear in the doorway.

“Buck, can you come into the bathroom with me for a second? I wanna show you something.”

Bucky dutifully follows. He’s partially hoping for another cleaning session. But when he arrives, he sees Steve is standing at the sink, not the bathtub. He’s careful not to let his disappointment show.

Steve is holding a plastic device in his hands. “Do you remember the last time you brushed your teeth?”

Bucky blinks at him. Oh, how he hates these questions.

He had noticed over the years that sometimes there would be pain in one of his teeth. If it happened on a mission, he would pry it out himself; if it stayed in longer and created a bad smell, the technicians would eventually notice and rip it out.

But he doesn’t recall anybody ever brushing his teeth. He thinks maybe Steve is confusing teeth for hair. Hair is something that should be brushed, as Steve had demonstrated yesterday.

As before, Steve patiently waits for him to answer, but when it’s clear that no answer will be forthcoming, he doesn’t get upset. “Okay, let me show you.”

Bucky carefully observes as Steve puts some substance on the device and starts moving it around in his mouth. Bucky doesn’t understand the point of it, but when Steve hands him his own device and the tube of substance, Bucky mimics his actions.

It’s more difficult than he thought. There are many places where he’s missing teeth and the device—toothbrush, Steve informs him—slips through the gaps and jabs him in the tongue.

When he’s repeated the process twice, Steve quietly asks if he can look into his mouth. Bucky immediately opens his mouth and lets Steve see. Steve looks horrified and Bucky keeps his mouth open, not knowing whether he’s made Steve angry or not.

“Buck, one of these days we have to get you to see the dentist. Not today, probably not anytime soon, but that needs to happen.”

Then Steve proceeds to show him how to shave. That’s something he’s a bit more familiar with. The Hydra technicians had always shaved him when his facial hair started to become unmanageable, but he hadn’t done it himself. Facial hair interfered with the mask that he wore on most missions, and the technicians would often put an oxygen mask on his face during maintenance procedures and they didn’t like how the facial hair prevented the mask from having a sufficient seal.

The plastic razor Steve hands him is unfamiliar and he doesn’t need to hear Steve’s explanation that it’s a device that wasn’t around 70 years ago to know he’s never held one before.

He follows Steve’s careful instructions and manages to shave his scraggly facial hair off and only cuts himself twice. Steve fusses and cringes over the cuts and Bucky is mildly amused—Steve has no concept of pain. Bucky will keep it that way.

Then Steve gives him new clothes to wear. Bucky is on the verge of protesting, since the clothes he’s wearing are still more than sufficient, but he remembers himself at the last moment and obediently changes clothes.

Steve makes them breakfast—a type of porridge that Bucky finds very familiar. He’s making another attempt to copy Steve’s hold of the spoon and he thinks he’s getting closer, since Steve compliments his efforts with the spoon. Then Steve gets out a small black backpack and proceeds to pack items into it. Bucky follows along behind him, curious over the collection of artifacts.

Many items make their way into the bag including a roll of bills, the toothbrush Bucky had used that morning and a small tube of the substance that was used with it, a razor, a can of shaving cream, small bottles of the liquids they used during the cleaning session yesterday, a wash rag and the comb. Then Steve adds a new black hat, some bottles of water and a sandwich and zips it up.

“This bag is yours, Buck. Everything in it belongs to you. You can restock using whatever’s in the apartment and if we run out, let me know. But please don’t steal anything from anybody. The things in this apartment belong to you and me, so we can share.”

Bucky takes the bag from Steve, blinking slightly. He looks from the bag to Steve a few times, not sure he’s understanding correctly. He doesn’t dare ask if the items are his but maybe Steve would understand a more subtle form of questioning. He slowly lifts the bag and presses it to his chest, raising an eyebrow at Steve.

Steve smiles happily. “Yeah, Buck. It’s yours. The bag and everything in it. Those are your things and you need to use them to keep yourself clean and healthy. There’s also money in there—you can use it for whatever you want. If you need more, you just tell me. We have a lot of money these days so don’t worry about it.”

Bucky feels overwhelmed for a moment. He hasn’t had anything that was his for a very long time. He liked some of his weapons, but really they were Hydra’s. Even the knife that stays tucked in his sleeve isn’t his—he stole it from a shop and stealing is wrong so it’s not really his.

He gives Steve a small smile, very happy with the gift.

For a moment, he’s not sure how to express his gratitude to Steve for the gift. The few times he got rewards from Hydra, they were given due to a mission going well. No gratitude was necessary.

He knows there’s something people usually say in such situations, but he can’t recall the word.

Steve saves him from any potential awkwardness by heading towards the front door and putting his jacket on, letting Bucky know he’s walking back to the museum to pick up his motorcycle.

Bucky is welcome to tag along or he’s free to go and do whatever he wants, as long as he obeys the command to return to Steve’s apartment if he doesn’t find somewhere suitable to sleep.

Well, suitable as per Steve’s standards, not Bucky’s.

Bucky takes out the black cap from the bag, pulls it onto his head and then swings the bag over his shoulders. He follows Steve out and stays a few steps behind him, watching his six as they make their way to the museum.

Steve uses his phone during the walk, quietly speaking to somebody. Bucky doesn’t attempt to overhear the conversation, knowing it’s not his business.

As they approach the museum Bucky lets himself fall further behind, knowing he would lose Steve once he got on his motorcycle anyway.

He watches Steve get on the motorcycle and speed away, throwing a smile and wave over his shoulder.

Bucky decides to head back to the apartment. He checks the perimeter along the way, relieves himself behind the building, and makes his way inside, locking the door behind him.

Once inside, he decides to practice the teeth cleaning ritual that Steve had shown him earlier. He likes the taste of his mouth after he does the cleaning. Satisfied that he’s improving, he carefully rinses the toothbrush and puts it back into his bag.

Then he realizes his own exhaustion is going to become a problem and decides it’s high time for a nap. He makes his way behind the rocking chair and sits down, pulling his knees up to his chest and carefully pulling the backpack into his lap. He pulls the chair closer to himself, satisfied that somebody would have a hard time attacking him in this area. He can just make out the front door through a small space between the chair’s arm and the cushion. Happy with the arrangement, he lowers his head to his knees, covers his head with his metal arm and prepares for sleep. He hopes he doesn’t get many of those nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter quite a while ago, but when I heard that Bucky will also have his own backpack in Civil War, I did a happy dance! Although the contents of Bucky's backpack in CA:CW versus this story are different, the sentiments are the same. Bucky Barnes deserves to finally have something of his own after 70 years.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful comments and the kudos!

Steve gives Sam an exasperated look when the man brings him a cup of coffee. “Sam, you don’t have to pay for my coffee.”

Sam shrugs and lowers himself onto the bench beside Steve. “I know. Don’t care.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, sipping their coffees.

“So, I’m glad to see you’re in one piece. Wasn’t sure if I was gonna have to call the cops and report a murder this morning.”

“I know you’re kidding—”

“Partially kidding.”

“—But I had the best sleep I’ve had in months last night.”

Sam looks at him in disbelief. “Seriously? You’d think you’d be on pins and needles the entire night worrying over what he’s doing.”

“I kinda was. Then I realized I wouldn’t be able to stop him if he wanted to leave—”

“Nor should you.”

“Right, so I realized it was pointless to worry about that. But none of it mattered because he ended up staying in my room with me.”

Sam freezes for a moment before taking a long sip of his coffee. Finally he lowers the cup and presses his lips together. “Steve…”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really think that was a good idea?”

Steve frowns. “I didn’t force him to come into my room, he just came in.”

“And you thought that was enough of a sign that he was consenting to having sex with you?” Sam’s tone is light and neutral, asking the question in his therapist voice.

Steve chokes on his coffee. Coughing the coffee out of his lungs, he spins on the bench to face Sam and stares at the man in complete shock. “Are you crazy?! You think Bucky and I had _sex_ last night?!”

“You—didn’t?”

“No! You—no! For Christ’s sake, Sam! No!”

“Okay, okay! Sorry! My bad. It does happen so sorry for jumping to that conclusion.”

Steve is still staring at him as if he’d grown a second head. “I was upset and Bucky must have heard me. He came into my room and I think he was scared Hydra would overhear me being upset and we’d be punished so he protected me until I feel asleep. He slept on the floor in the corner. That’s it.”

“Steve, buddy, I’m sorry. I—it’s really not that uncommon and I come across this a lot. People try to fix all sorts of problems using sex, but I shouldn’t have assumed. Sorry.”

Satisfied with the explanation and apology, Steve returns to his coffee.

“Do you want to talk about what upset you?”

Steve scowls. “The usual. My head’s just….not a happy place. Focusing on Bucky makes it better on most days, but the nights are still tough.”

Sam sighs softly. “Steve, you can’t use Bucky’s recovery as a crutch for your depression. If things fall apart with Bucky it could have serious repercussions for your wellbeing, which would also make things with Bucky worse.”

“I don’t care if it’s a crutch. I’m helping Bucky, that’s the end of it.”

“Steve—”

“You want to help me, then tell me how I can make myself feel better faster.”

“Find yourself some hobbies. Get your mind interested in things that don’t involve SHIELD, Bucky or the museum. Pick things that bring you joy, things that make you happy.”

“We already talked about this. I have no idea what makes me happy.”

“You gotta try different things and see what you enjoy doing. I gave you that list of potential—”

“Hobbies, I know. We’ve beaten this subject to death.”

“And yet you still haven’t done anything about it.”

Steve is glaring and his mood has definitely shifted. Sam forces himself to smile and elbows him lightly. “I still stand by my suggestion of trying ultimate fighting.” He’s going for a lighthearted tone, hoping Steve will recognize the shift and lighten up himself.

No such luck.

Steve rolls his eyes. “That’s dumb. I’m sick and tired of this topic. What’s next?”

“Get more exercise. You’re spending way too much time sitting on your ass these days. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you find excuses to miss our jogging dates nearly all the time—”

“I went with you on Thursday!”

“Yeah, that’s why I said ‘ _nearly_ ’. And you came very reluctantly. I know you don’t feel like exercising, but I promise you it’ll make you feel better.”

Steve lets out an annoyed sigh. “Okay.”

“And you know you’re always welcome to come to—”

“I _know_.” Steve cuts Sam off, a tinge of irritation in his voice.

Sam gives him a sideways look. “You wanna do me a favor and break off a branch from that tree and beat me to death with it? I prefer that to the slow kill method you’ve got going on here.”

Steve takes a deep breath and briefly closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Mood swings are part of it. I get it. But recognizing the mood swings and apologizing for being an ass go a long way to maintaining relationships.”

“I know. I’m really sorry. I’ll go to the VA when I’m ready.”

“You don’t have to ever go to the VA or any other therapist if you don’t want to. I’m just giving you suggestions.”

They lapse into another silence while Sam finishes his coffee.

“Alright, now onto a topic you’re probably much happier discussing: How’s Bucky? Did showering happen or is that waiting for another day?”

A smile appears on Steve’s face the moment Bucky’s name is mentioned and he launches into the details of what had taken place after they had gone to Steve’s apartment.

Sam listens quietly.

“Why did he think you were cold? Was it cold in the room?”

Steve smiles. “No. I think his memories of me are mainly from the pre-serum days. It makes sense—he knew me a lot longer as skinny little Steve Rogers than Captain America. I’d still be cold even if I was wearing every stitch of clothing we owned and wrapped in every blanket we had. Buck spent a lot of time helping keep me warm.”

Sam laughs. “You know, I’ve seen the pictures but I still can’t believe you used to be less than a hundred pounds and a foot shorter.”

“Sometimes I look in the mirror and I still think it’s a stranger in there. Anyway, I did what you said and I put all of his stuff into a bag and gave it to him. He’s got everything in there if he wants to find some place else to sleep.”

“Good. That’s huge. You’re gonna have to keep making certain decisions for him for a while, things like when to bathe, when to change clothes, what makes an appropriate sleeping place, but if he settles into a routine, he may start getting comfortable enough to make some of his own decisions.”

“He has a really hard time with yes and no questions.”

“What’s he been doing when you ask him a yes or no question?”

“Mainly he doesn’t say anything at all. Sometimes he looks scared like he doesn’t know which one’s the right answer.”

“The more comfortable he gets with you, the more he’s gonna start responding to you. But until then, you’ll just have to decide what the answer should be.”

“I don’t wanna force him to do something he really doesn’t want to do.”

“Do your best to get him to respond, but don’t force him to answer. Look for nonverbal cues to let you know what’s going on. If he really doesn’t want to do something, you’ll be able to tell,” Sam says. “By the way, I hope you know how huge it is that he spoke to you last night and this morning.”

Steve grins. “Bucky’s tough. He’ll make it through this, I know he will.”

“He’s got the best possible support system anybody could ask for.”

“Thanks, Sam.”

“And if that support system has any questions or needs a shoulder to lean on, I’m always here. Day or night.”

*             *             *

Steve lets himself into the apartment and locks the door behind him. Tossing his keys onto the kitchen counter, he takes a moment to wander around. “Buck? You here?”

When he doesn’t get a response, he figures Bucky is out somewhere. He heads into the kitchen and pulls a sandwich out of the fridge. Flopping down on the couch, he turns on the television and starts flicking through channels.

Sam mentioned finding hobbies. Steve thinks finding a TV show to regularly watch might fit into that category. He flips to the TV guide and starts scrolling through slowly. He still can’t believe the number of channels that are available these days; he also can’t believe so many are filled with garbage.

He comes across a home renovation channel. Right now it has an episode where a young woman is trying to find a suitable apartment in Spain. He puts down the remote, picks up his sandwich and settles in. He guesses there won’t be any gunfire or traumatic events happening in a show where the woman’s biggest concern is the lack of proper lighting in one of the apartments.

By the end of the episode, he’s firmly rooting for the second apartment. When the woman winds up choosing the first one, he groans loudly at the screen.

“The second one was cheaper and you could have put some rugs on the floor if you didn’t like the color of the hardwood!”

A tiny movement catches his attention following his outburst. Something had moved behind the rocking chair in the corner of the room. Immediately, he lowers the sandwich and prepares to strike.

*             *             *

Bucky jerks awake the moment someone enters the apartment. He peers through the small opening in the chair and confirms that it’s Steve.

Fear catches in his throat. What if Steve catches him sleeping here? He had told Bucky he could sleep in the apartment, but what if Steve only meant he could sleep at night? Or what if Steve didn’t want him sleeping behind the chair?

He hears Steve calling his name but he remains silent, panic freezing him in place. He immediately steels himself for punishment, ducking his head back down and waiting for the yelling and pain to start.

But nothing happens.

Long minutes go by. He hears Steve rustling around in the kitchen and then coming into the living room. He raises his head a fraction and peers through the opening and sees Steve has settled on the couch.

The device to the left of him suddenly begins making noise. Bucky flinches and it takes enormous effort to remain where he is. The last thing he wants to do is attract Steve’s attention and make him angry. The longer he can delay punishment, the better.

Steve is staring at the box and points a device at it from time to time. At one point, he settles back against the couch and starts eating his sandwich.

Bucky remembers there’s a sandwich in the bag on his lap. He’s starting to get hungry but he doesn’t dare open the bag to take the sandwich out.

Time goes by. Bucky starts feeling sleepy again. He doesn’t usually have difficulty staying awake for long periods of time during missions when it’s required. He thinks it has something to do with the drugs that the Hydra technicians would inject into him prior to missions. He doesn’t have access to those drugs now and he finds himself getting tired if he remains inactive for longer periods of time. The fact that it’s comfortable and warm behind the chair also doesn’t help.

The noise from the device becomes a steady, soothing drone. Sometimes there is music and other sounds, but mainly it’s a man and woman speaking. They’re talking about floors and windows and how much rent is.

He remembers rent was always way too much. That was always their main priority. Even if Bucky had to skip a few meals, it was more important to save the money for the rent. But it was also important not to tell Steve that he skipped those meals since Steve would get upset and Bucky didn’t like upsetting Steve.

He’s barely aware of his eyes slowly sliding shut. He’s warm and comfortable and the man and woman speaking on the device are very focused on their task and don’t seem to be an immediate threat. He’s slowly dozing off when suddenly Steve lets out a loud shout, yelling something about hardwood.

Bucky jerks awake, immediately pulling the knife out and jerking his metal arm up to defend himself.

He freezes, bracing himself for an attack. He can’t hear Steve anymore. He risks a peek through the opening and sees Steve staring directly at the chair.

He jerks away from the opening, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. Oh, the punishment will come now.

Neither of them move for a moment.

“Is anybody there?” Steve sounds afraid, but also angry.

Bucky doesn’t respond. Anything he says will fuel Steve’s anger, he knows that. Fueling the anger makes the punishment worse.

He hears Steve getting up and leaving the room. He’s back moments later and approaching the chair, keeping his back against the wall.

Bucky drops the knife beside him, knowing _they_ get more upset if he tries to defend himself. Then he covers his head with his arms pressing his face into his knees, ready for the punishment. He realizes he’s shaking, his body already scared of what will happen. He can’t often remember punishments in exact detail, but his body always remembers the pain. He tries to force himself to remain still. The longer he can remain undetected the better.

He hears Steve coming closer, until suddenly the chair is pulled away with a loud screech and Steve is standing over him.

“Buck?! Oh, my God, Buck. Christ, I could have shot you!”

*             *             *

Steve’s heart is hammering in his chest when he finally reaches the chair and yanks it away from the wall. He trains the gun at the person or device he knows is hiding behind it.

He has a moment to wonder how Hydra found his new apartment and how glad he is that Bucky isn’t in the apartment if there is a bomb present, before he realizes he’s pointing his gun at a cowering, shaking Bucky.

He immediately berates himself for not realizing that the intruder was Bucky. A moment later, he’s berating Bucky and quickly removing the ammo clip from his gun. He sends both skidding across the floor behind him to be picked up later.

He stares down at Bucky, who’s obviously terrified, covering his head with both arms as if he’s expecting blows to come raining down at him at any moment.

Steve drops slowly to a crouch. “Buck—I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.”

As his adrenalin fades, a feeling of helplessness overwhelms him. He wants to pull Bucky in his arms and hold him until he stops being scared, but he knows Bucky wouldn’t view that as comfort at this point.

“I’m sorry, Buck. I didn’t realize this was your space. Were you sleeping? Or eating lunch? Whatever you were doing, you were doing a great job. You picked a great spot. Sorry I barged in.”

Slowly, he pushes himself up and gently pushes the chair back to where it had been, covering Bucky back up. Then he shuffles back from the chair, snagging his gun and ammo clip along the way. He quickly hides the gun back in his room and returns to the living room, keeping up a steady stream of chatter along the way.

“I’m gonna keep watching TV, Buck. Did you like the show we watched? It’s about people looking for houses. They picked the second one but I thought the first one was better. They were in Spain and it looked really nice. It’s kind of a pity we never got to see Spain. Well, technically we never got to do much sightseeing in the parts of Europe we did see, but the show made Spain look really nice.”

He realizes he’s babbling, so he focuses on the television. He presses a button on the remote and reads the short description of the show that’s on at the moment.

“This one’s about home inspections, apparently. Oh, look, he’s making a hole in the wall. I’m guessing he’s trying to see what’s behind it?”

Steve forces himself to focus back on the TV and he watches the episode, providing some commentary from time to time, hoping to communicate with his tone that he isn’t mad. There’s no movement from behind the chair until the episode is almost over.

“Yay, the house is now fixed. Look—they bought the family new furniture to replace the stuff from the water damage. That’s nice of them, huh?”

When the credits start rolling, Steve focuses his attention on the chair.

“Buck, you can stay back there, but I’d love it if you came out here. Please?”

Several long minutes pass until Bucky finally stands and slowly edges his way out from behind the chair. Steve is prepared to praise him for his courage, when Bucky makes his way in front of Steve and drops to his knees, head hanging low.

“Buck…”

Steve slides off the couch so he’s kneeling before Bucky, putting them on equal ground. He tries to catch Bucky’s eyes behind the curtain of tangled hair.

“What are you thinking? I want to help you, Buck, but I can’t if I don’t know what you’re thinking,” he says softly.

Bucky licks his lips and seems to shrink even more into himself. “Punishment needs to happen,” he whispers.

Steve briefly squeezes his eyes shut, forcing back tears. He doesn’t want to add crying into the mix. He takes a few deep breaths to settle himself.

“There’s not gonna be punishment. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bucky doesn’t move.

“I promise, Buck. I swear on ma’s grave that there won’t be punishment. You did nothing wrong. You picked a great spot in the apartment and that will be your spot and I won’t disturb you there anymore. You can go there whenever you want, okay? Do you understand?”

No response.

Steve waits a moment, but when it becomes clear that Bucky won’t answer, Steve moves on. Instead of asking Bucky if he wants to eat, he mimes the act of eating.

Bucky follows his movements with wary eyes and he looks absolutely crestfallen at seeing the gesture. Before Steve can ask him about it, Bucky crawls back behind the chair, takes his bag, removes the sandwich from it and brings it to Steve, gently placing it before him and then shuffling back on his knees, eyes on the carpet.

It nearly breaks Steve’s heart. Obviously Bucky thinks Steve is going to confiscate his food as punishment.

“No punishment, Buck. I promised on ma’s grave, remember? I mean that. No punishment. This is your sandwich.”

Steve picks up the sandwich, removes the wrapper from part of it and places it closer to Bucky.

Then Steve heads back to the couch and forces himself to watch TV. He keeps glancing at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. He has no idea what he’ll do if Bucky refuses to eat.

Bucky stays where he is for about five minutes, waiting to see if Steve will change his mind. Then he carefully brings his metal hand towards the sandwich, keeping an eye on Steve the entire time. His hand grabs the sandwich and pulls it towards himself. Once he has the sandwich in his grasp, he slowly starts shuffling back towards his chair. Pushing the chair over a bit, he squeezes between the chair and the television without having to turn his back on Steve or having to stand.

Once behind the chair, he pulls it back until he’s disappeared from Steve’s view. Steve can hear the crinkle of plastic as Bucky unwraps more of the sandwich.

“Good job, Buck. I hope you like the sandwich.”

While Bucky eats, Steve provides more commentary on the show they’re watching now. He hears Bucky opening one of the bottles of water at one point and then silence.

When he strains his hearing, he can just barely hear Bucky’s breathing become deeper and slower. He’s sleeping.

Steve stays where he is, careful not to make any loud noises. After a few different episodes have gone by, he realizes that the channel doesn’t have any shows with sudden firefights or explosions and the only loud noises are construction sounds, so he stays on this channel.

At one point, he hears Bucky let out a small whimper. His first instinct is to go to him but he doesn’t want to violate his sanctuary again. He decides to stay on the couch, despite how much it hurts. He decides to try to help Bucky by speaking to him, in the hopes that he’ll either wake up or recognize his voice and subconsciously feel safer.

“It’s okay, Buck. I think you’re having a bad dream. You’re in your safe place. We’re okay.”

He can see a small movement behind the chair and can tell by his breathing the moment Bucky wakes. He keeps talking for a while longer until Bucky’s panicked breathing has calmed and he hears the water bottle being re-opened.

It still feels strange to have such distance between the two of them. Bucky had always been a very tactile person and was constantly touching everybody around him. From the time they were small, Steve was rarely in the same room as Bucky without them touching in some way. He’d get an enthusiastic hug when meeting and before parting, Bucky would constantly be jostling him, poking him, draping an arm around his shoulders, leaning on him, lying with his head in his lap, or pulling Steve onto his lap and digging his chin into his bony shoulder. They shared a bed often, mainly in the winter and also when Steve was sick. Bucky would always insist, afraid he’d die while Bucky was sleeping unaware a few feet away. It was only when Steve was highly contagious that his ma would put her foot down and only let Bucky sleep outside the door of the room. But when Steve was healthy, there was nothing anybody could do to keep Bucky’s hands to himself. When they lived together, they only had one bed anyway and the only time they weren’t sharing it was when Bucky had female company and Steve slept on the couch. Bucky never seemed to have female company during the winter. Steve hadn’t realized until later that Bucky had probably done it on purpose so they could share the bed and let Bucky be Steve’s furnace. He’d wrap his arms and legs around Steve and tuck his head under his chin. Today’s electric blankets had nothing on James Buchanan Barnes.

Even during the war, Bucky would always have his arms around Steve when they were sitting somewhere and on long marches or on watch Bucky would constantly be touching Steve—mostly with his elbows and feet since his hands were busy holding his sniper rifle.

Steve had become so accustomed to it that he knew without a doubt the loss of it is contributing to his loneliness.

Wrapping his arms around himself, Steve thought back to that last night before the train. They had shared a tent as usual and had put their sleeping rolls together so they could sleep together and stay warmer. Bucky had never really gotten it through his head that Steve had become capable of producing enough body heat to not need Bucky to serve as his heater anymore, but Steve was so accustomed to them sleeping together that he never bothered reminding him. Besides, he was pretty sure they both enjoyed the small comfort and reminder of their old lives in Brooklyn.

Bucky had immediately spooned up behind Steve, despite the fact that Steve was more broad-shouldered than him now. Bucky slung an arm around his waist, pulled the blankets up and buried his nose in the back of Steve’s neck. Steve remembers he complained about Bucky’s cold nose; Bucky had complained right back that he hadn’t said anything about Steve’s cold feet, so Steve could shut up about it. Steve had laughed and caught one of Bucky’s feet between his, ignoring the squawk from behind him. Bucky had nipped his ear with sharp teeth and Steve aimed a weak punch over his shoulder, managing to connect with some part of Bucky.

“Quit it, you nitwit, you’re moving the blankets and lettin’ the cold air in,” Bucky had laughed.

Steve smiles fondly. He deliberately doesn’t let himself dwell on what happened the very next day. Sighing, he pushes off the couch and heads to the bathroom to take a piss.

As he’s doing his business, he frowns thoughtfully. He doesn’t remember Bucky having used the toilet since he’d brought him home. There’s the possibility that Bucky was being stealthy about it, but Steve knows there’s also the possibility that Bucky had forgotten what a toilet was for. He has no idea what Hydra had done in terms of toilet usage.

He washes his hands and calls out for Bucky to come into the bathroom. In moments, Bucky appears, peering curiously into the bathroom.

“Buck, don’t get mad if this is dumb, but I think it’s important we get this straightened out.” He points at the toilet that’s still slowly filling back up with water following his flush. “If you have to relieve yourself, you use the toilet. There’s toilet paper there too.”

Bucky blinks at the toilet and then frowns at Steve. “Outside,” he says.

Ah, so there was his answer. “No, Buck. You can’t do that outside. It’s not nice, it’s not healthy for other people and you can get in trouble. That’s what the toilet is for.”

Bucky is frowning down at it. He examines the water in the bowl and then reaches out a hesitant hand, slowly resting two fingers on the flusher. Giving it a push, he watches the water rushing out of the bowl. He seems pleased with himself.

Then he pokes at the roll of toilet paper, frowning at it.

“Yeah, I know. We used to use newspaper, but we’ve got money these days so we can use the real stuff.”

Bucky takes one more look at everything and then glances at Steve.

“When do I use it?” he asked quietly.

“Anytime you need to. There’s no schedule and no wrong time. You just have to wash your hands every time you’re done.”

Bucky is nodding thoughtfully. They lapse into a silence while Bucky seems to be staring at the wall behind the toilet, lost in thought. He suddenly straightens up. “You boys better be washing up before dinner or I’m giving it to the dogs next door,” he says.

Steve starts and stares at Bucky. It sounded exactly like something Bucky’s ma would have said to them when they would come in from playing outside in the muck all day. She’d insist they scrubbed their hands and faces with the hose outside before she’d let them have dinner.

“Yeah, Buck. That’s right. Your ma used to say that to us all the time.”

Bucky shoots him a small smile, clearly proud of himself for remembering. Steve is torn for a moment, wanting to ask him more questions over what else he remembers about his mother, but not wanting to scare him off. He decides not to risk moving backwards and he glances at the bathtub.

“Hey, I bought some heavy duty detangler today. You want to have another bath and we can try to get more of those tangles out of your hair?”

Bucky lights up at the mention of the bath and he eagerly starts stripping his clothes off. Then he rushes back into the living room and returns with his bag, pulling out the comb, wash rag and bottles Steve had given him. He holds up each one to Steve, waiting for confirmation before placing it carefully on the edge of the bathtub. The only one he gets wrong is the shaving cream, but Steve gently pushes it back into the bag and smoothly keeps praising him, not giving him time to get upset or scared.

Steve turns on the water, fills the tub and then takes a step back. “Alright, Buck. There you go.”

Bucky immediately climbs into the bathtub and starts washing himself without needing to be prompted. Steve closes the lid on the toilet and sits down, a proud smile on his face. Bucky rubs the shampoo into his hair and then smoothly cups his hands under the stream of water from the faucet and starts rinsing his hair.

“You’re doing great, Buck,” Steve says, having to press his lips together to keep from choking up. He knows how tough Bucky is and how intelligent he had always been—regardless of how many times he got away with things by playing dumb—but the amount of progress he’s seen in his friend over the last 24 hours was amazing.

Jesus, he loves this man. He had always loved him but things like this make his heart swell even more with fierce love.

He gets up when Bucky’s done and stepping out of the tub. He hands him his towel and then holds up the detangler.

“Alright, you ready? We’re going to spray this in your hair and see if you can brush it without hurting yourself.”

Bucky stands still as Steve sprays a liberal amount of the stuff into his hair. They wait a few minutes for it to take effect, then he hands Bucky the comb. “Remember: be gentle. Please don’t hurt yourself. If the comb won’t go through, we’ll try something different.”

Bucky takes the comb and slowly starts pulling it through his hair. When the comb moves through one of the larger tangles like it wasn’t there, Steve blinks down at the bottle. They’ve apparently learned how to bottle witchcraft in this century.

There are a few tangles that still don’t come out easily and Steve takes over, spraying more of the detangler and gently picking at knots. When it’s clear that some of the knots are a lost cause, Steve gets a pair of scissors and cuts them off.

“Don’t worry, you still look like the same dashing ladies man that you did before I cut it off.”

He’s careful not to remind Bucky that he could always cut off more hair if he wanted and return to the short hair he used to have. Maybe Bucky will decide he likes his hair like this.

When they’re done, Bucky decides he needs to clean his teeth. Steve leaves him to it and heads back into the living room. He’s surprised but pleased to hear the toilet flushing after a while.

Once Bucky’s done, Steve heads for the bathroom himself and has a quick shower.

When he comes back, he sees the bag and Bucky have both disappeared from sight, presumably having settled behind the chair again. As he relaxes on the couch, he turns the TV back on.

“Oh, look, it’s another episode of the house hunting show. This time they’re in Miami. We missed the first house they looked at, but that’s alright. They’ll review all three before the end.”

Steve is oddly proud of himself for already having grasped the show’s concept. He provides a commentary during the show, telling Bucky everything that was going on that he couldn’t see from behind the chair.

As the hours go by they move from one show to the next, learning about renovating decks and how a sink is not supposed to be installed. When the episode of the house hunt in Spain comes back on, Steve pushes himself up and heads to the kitchen to make dinner.

When he’s done he calls for Bucky, who crawls out from behind the chair and joins him. They eat in silence for a while until Bucky nods towards the television.

“Second one’s better.”

Steve glances at the television and back to Bucky, not understanding. “Second what?”

“She picks the first one. Second one’s better. You said so.”

Steve lets out a laugh. “Yeah, but that’s just my opinion. She liked the first one.”

Bucky is quiet for the rest of dinner, but once he’s helped bring his dish to the sink, he makes his way back into the living room. To Steve’s surprise, he doesn’t immediately go back behind his chair but crouches down beside the coffee table, watching the show.

Steve spends much longer than necessary washing the dishes, not wanting to disturb Bucky.

Finally, Bucky turns to face Steve. “Second one’s better. Cheaper and she’s stupid for worrying about the floors. They’re in good condition.”

With that determination, he gets back behind the chair.

Steve leaves him alone for the rest of the evening. He can hear him falling asleep for short bursts from time to time. Steve keeps the television turned low and turns his attention to sketching. The television starts replaying the episode about the flooded home.

As he sketches with the low murmur of the television in the background, a warmth gradually spreads through his chest. Bucky’s here, he’s safe and growing healthier and stronger by the minute. Steve thinks maybe the feeling in his chest is his heart growing whole again, piece by piece.

After a few hours, Steve yawns and stretches. “I’m heading to bed, Buck. It would be good if you brushed your teeth one more time tonight.”

He heads off to the bathroom to brush his own teeth, and is surprised to find Bucky appear in the bathroom shortly afterwards. He’s got his toothbrush, toothpaste and comb in his hands. He brushes his teeth and rinses the toothbrush. Then he starts carefully brushing his hair.

Steve grins at him in the mirror. “You’re doing such a great job, Buck. It’s unbelievable. You’re amazing.”

Bucky gives him a tiny smile in the mirror before he heads back into the living room.

That night, Steve falls asleep without being overcome by tears for the first time in weeks. He’s surprised but thrilled to hear his door opening with a quiet creak in the middle of the night.

Bucky creeps in and hovers over Steve for a moment, while the latter remains motionless and keeps his breathing even, not wanting to scare him off.

Bucky eventually sits down in the corner of the room.

Steve falls back asleep, feeling safer than he has since he woke up from the ice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos! I'm so happy you're enjoying my take on Bucky's recovery. 
> 
> In this chapter, the boys visit a certain memorial in Washington DC that holds a lot of meaning for both of them. Throughout that section, I've included links to images for those who would like to see what the boys are looking at. Following the links is not necessary, but the memorial is beautiful so I thought I'd share my love for it.
> 
> The visit to the memorial also explains where the title of this story came from.

A week later, there’s a knock on the door and Steve opens it to find a delivery man with two bicycles, two bike helmets and a bill.

Steve pays for everything and pulls the bikes into his apartment, remembering to thank and tip the delivery man while trying to hide his bewilderment.

He sees there’s a post-it note stuck inside one of the two helmets.

_Time to get you two outside! Having one of you on a motorcycle is an unfair advantage, so I’m hoping these manual versions will make you eventually matched, and they’ll get those butts of yours in motion._

_You’ll be thrilled to know I’m letting you pay for these. Hopefully the bikes won’t give you two nonagenarians any problems!_

_Sam_

“Buck, we got presents from Sam.”

Bucky has come out from behind his chair where he’d been napping since they finished breakfast. He stares curiously at the bikes.

Steve holds up one of the helmets towards him. “You wanna give it a try? Or you can come watch me try?”

Bucky comes closer and takes the helmet, turning it over in his hands.

“It’s to put on your head for protection.”

Bucky pokes a finger through one of the holes covering it. “It’s broken.”

“I think those holes are supposed to be there.” He thinks Bucky’s remembering the last helmets they had both worn, which were nothing like these.

They make their way outside, Bucky having decided to let Steve try things out first and leaving his bike inside, but taking his backpack. It’s past the morning rush hour and the street and sidewalk are quiet. A lady is walking her dog on the other sidewalk, and the occasional car drives by, but they have their sidewalk to themselves, leaving Steve plenty of room.

First, he spends some time figuring out which way to put the helmet on.

When he puts it on backwards first, he’s grousing at how uncomfortable the straps are when he realizes Bucky is shaking with silent laughter, eyes twinkling from amusement. He ducks his head the moment Steve catches him.

“What’s so funny?” Steve is smiling at him, keeping his voice light, not wanting Bucky to think he’s mad at him.

Bucky ducks his head and refuses to answer.

Steve undoes the clip and takes the helmet off, staring at it. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, I had it on backwards. No wonder. I must have looked ridiculous, huh?” He chuckles to himself.

Bucky’s shoulders start shaking with laughter again.

Steve immediately misses Bucky’s laugh, which used to fill a room no matter how noisy a place was. Steve always thought of it as sunshine flooding a room when curtains are pulled back from a window. Not that he’d ever mentioned that to Bucky.

But Bucky’s laughing and that’s what’s most important. It’s a different laugh, that’s all.

He manages to get the helmet on right and then gets on the bike. He pedals up and down the sidewalk for a bit, turning around where space allows it. Bucky stays where he’s standing, watching Steve.

After he’s gone up and down the sidewalk a few times, he comes to a stop by Bucky.

“You wanna try? I’ll help.”

Bucky looks hesitant but then turns and heads back inside the apartment. He’s back a few moments later, wheeling his bike along, his helmet dangling from the handlebars.

He puts the helmet on and then pauses. He stares at Steve for a moment before he points back at the apartment.

“What? We can go back in if you changed your mind, Buck. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. It’s just for fun.”

Bucky shakes his head and frowns a bit. He jabs a finger into Steve’s chest and points back at the apartment. Steve gets it but plays dumb a bit longer, hoping Bucky will use his words.

“I don’t understand.”

Bucky huffs out a breath, obviously exasperated. “Go inside,” he says. For emphasis, he pokes Steve in the chest again and points at the apartment.

Steve holds up his hands. “Okay, okay, I’m going. You do whatever you want to do out here. Come get me if you want company.”

He heads back inside with his bike and helmet. He quickly heads to his bedroom and discreetly peers through the window at Bucky on the sidewalk.

Bucky is fully focused on the bike. He straddles it and touches one foot to each pedal at a time, keeping one foot on the ground at all times. He pushes himself forwards and backwards a few times, pushing himself along with his feet on the ground.

As muscle memory starts taking over, Bucky finally plants one foot on a pedal and pushes off. He gets his other foot on the pedal and starts drifting forward. He’s a bit wobbly and when he gets to the area where Steve had turned around, he forgets how to brake and ends up jumping off the bike, the bike landing on the sidewalk and Bucky rolling away. He immediately rolls to his feet, the movement graceful and practiced. He picks up the bike and spends some time inspecting it before he figures out the braking mechanisms.

Then he tries it again, coming back down the sidewalk the other way. He’s already more steady, his body having remembered how to do this.

They used to share a bike back in Brooklyn. It was an old, rusty thing and the brakes on it no longer worked (which was probably why Bucky had forgotten how to use them), and they’d have to use their feet for braking. It wore away the soles of their shoes quickly, but using the bike allowed them to get to and from work much faster. Bucky used it more than Steve did since he could get a double shift in at the docks and still get home to have a decent meal and sleep before heading back for his next double. They kept it in their apartment, crammed between their bed and the wall in case somebody robbed the place while they were sleeping.

Bucky makes several passes up and down the sidewalk before he stops and looks at the apartment. Steve knows Bucky can’t see him but he must know he was being spied on because Bucky gestures for him to come out.

As soon as Steve is outside with his bike and helmet, Bucky says: “This bike is better than the old bike.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, the old one didn’t have any brakes.”

“It was green.”

“Yes, it was. It was also rusty. And very old. These are much nicer.”

“I used it to get to the docks. I went really fast and hit Mrs. Leeson.”

Steve frowns. “When? I don’t remember that.”

“Don’t know. But I did. Her bag of apples went everywhere. She fell over. I wanted to help her but she hit me with her cane. I said I was sorry. I picked up the fruit but she hit me again. I took one of the apples and gave it to you.”

Steve stares at him, trying to smoother a smile. “Buck, that’s terrible. Thank you for the apple and good job for apologizing to the poor woman, but if you hit somebody with your bike, it’s really not nice to rob them afterwards.”

“I didn’t mean to hit her. You needed the apple.” Deciding that finished the conversation, Bucky gets on his bike and heads off down the sidewalk.

Steve puts on his own helmet, hops on his bike and pedals after him. Bucky doesn’t seem to have a specific destination in mind, so they just wind their way through the residential streets, Steve trailing after him.

At one point, Bucky stops and takes his bottle of water out of his bag—Steve always gives him a new bottle of water and sandwich in the mornings—and takes a drink. He offers it to Steve, who has a moment to berate himself for not bringing his own supplies. He takes a grateful drink and gives it back to Bucky, who puts it back in his bag.

At that point, a lady walking her dog is approaching them. She frowns at them. “Get off the sidewalk,” she says, glaring at them as she makes her way past them.

Steve frowns in confusion. “Why?” He calls after her.

“Because it’s the law, idiot!” She calls back.

Bucky immediately tenses at the insult, but Steve holds up a warning hand. “It’s okay, Buck, ignore her. She’s rude but she’s probably right. Seems like we have to ride on the street.”

Steve is glad that Bucky seems to have fully regained his stability on the bike and the residential streets aren’t too busy, so he thinks they can make it on the street.

“Buck, let’s not go on the busy streets, okay?”

Riding on the streets is a bit nerve-wracking, but Steve follows along behind Bucky. He’s so busy keeping up and worrying over the doors of the parked cars flying open that he barely realizes when they’re back at the apartment.

As soon as they’re back in the apartment, Bucky heads to the bathroom for a bath and Steve calls Sam.

“Thank you for the present.”

“Hey, you paid for them, so technically it’s not really a present, it was more of a suggestion.”

“Either way, thank you. We went for a bike ride. I forgot my water, but thankfully, Barnes had us covered.”

Sam laughs. “I have a feeling that’s not the first time that’s happened.”

“You don’t want to know how many times I nearly marched out of camp without my shield. Some days I nearly walked out of our tent without shoes or pants on. Bucky’s the one who saved me from looking like an idiot.”

Sam laughs even harder.

“Hey, so apparently you can’t ride on the sidewalks?”

“Not in the business district you can’t. That’s what you get for wanting to be so close to the museum.”

“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“I’m shocked.”

Steve laughs and asks Sam about his day. While they chat, Bucky comes back into the room, combing his hair. He makes his way towards the chair. To Steve’s surprise, he doesn’t crawl behind it but sits on the floor, leaning against the chair.

He puts his comb into the bag and pulls out his sandwich. He slowly eats the sandwich while Steve listens to Sam.

Steve resists the urge to jump up and down from happiness. He wants to tell Sam about what’s happening in front of him, but he doesn’t want to risk calling too much attention to it, in case Bucky misinterprets his reaction.

Sam keeps talking and Steve is carefully keeping his gaze averted from Bucky. When Bucky is finished his sandwich, he gets up and wanders into the kitchen.

Steve deliberately doesn’t watch him, so he’s completely surprised when a sandwich is suddenly shoved under his nose. Bucky has partially taken off the wrapping and he’s standing beside the couch, holding the sandwich towards him.

Steve grins at him. “Hang on, Sam,” he says into the phone. “Thanks, Buck.”

He takes the sandwich and takes a bite. “Sam, keep talking. I’m eating lunch,” he mumbles through a full mouth.

Bucky makes his way to his chair and squeezes behind it, pulling his backpack after him. When Sam asks him a question, Steve lowers his voice when responding, knowing Bucky was probably taking a nap.

*             *             *

A few days later, Sam is pleasantly surprised when Steve calls him in the morning, asking if he’d like to go on a running date. He doesn’t bring Bucky—not that Sam had been expecting it—but the fact that Steve had been the one to initiate the meet up and the exercise are a good sign.

Sam is so pleased with him that he buys Steve a chocolate pastry for breakfast, and then hands him a bag with a second one for Bucky.

*             *             *

Bucky’s nightmares are getting steadily worse. He thinks it’s probably connected to his memories slowly returning and giving him more complete pictures of what he’s spent the past 70 years doing.

Instead of confusing flashes of color, glimpses of blurred faces and snatches of sound all blending together, the memories are starting to take fully formed shape.

What had been a brown indistinct shape not worthy of attention is now clearly the crumpled body of a man wearing a brown jacket, a gunshot in the center of his forehead. What had been a flash of green now becomes a green dress worn by a woman whose terrified face is streaked in tears, protecting a small child behind her.

She’s begging in Russian, holding out pleading hands towards him. He looks down and sees a gun in his hands, his finger already on the trigger. Ignoring her pleas, he shoots her in the head and watches her fall to the floor. The child is shrieking, tears streaming down his face. The wails are abruptly silenced when Bucky puts a bullet in his head too.

That’s usually when Bucky jerks awake, sweating and shaky. He realizes that the more time goes by, the more he’s starting to feel their fear, their pain. He doesn’t remember having felt anything during the actual mission. But now he thinks about how it would feel if somebody would shoot Steve and the pain brings a lump to his throat and tears to his eyes. He doesn’t allow himself to cry, most importantly because crying isn’t permitted, and secondly because he had been the one to kill them. Crying won’t bring them back.

He blinks the tears back by brute force and clenches his jaw tight enough for his teeth to start aching. He knows that sometimes small sounds must escape him or his breathing must change because Steve will start talking to him, softly calming him.

Hearing his voice is soothing. The second time it happens, Bucky remembers that Steve had long experience soothing him from nightmares.

He remembers waking in a tent in a cold place, fear clutching him. He doesn’t quite recall what he’d been dreaming about during those times but he remembers always thrashing around in his bedroll, fighting the memory of restraints keeping him bound to a cold table. Steve had calmed him the same way back then, speaking softly to him, reminding him he was in a safe place and that they were okay. Since they slept right beside each other Steve would pull Bucky into his arms, tuck his head underneath his chin and let him cry into his shoulder until he’d calmed down.

Sometimes when Bucky jerks himself awake, heart pounding from fear and his vision still half clouded with guns and bodies with empty stares, he finds himself wishing that he could curl up in the comfort of Steve’s arms like he used.

But then he comes back to himself a bit more and realizes he isn’t comfortable with the idea. He knows he used to find it comforting, but he also knows he hasn’t been touched that way in a very long time. He finds the idea discomforting. He doesn’t think his body would remember how to act in such a situation. Much like holding utensils, he’d probably find it awkward.

He decides it’s better if he stays behind the chair.

*             *             *

After they’ve been bike owners for about a week, Bucky asks Steve if he can use his computer. Steve is surprised but tells him he can use the computer whenever he wants.

In general, Steve is still not overly comfortable with the large amount of technology he’s confronted with in this century so he tends to avoid using anything except the television and his phone, and the latter is only used for phone calls.

Bucky puts the laptop on the kitchen table where they had just finished breakfast. As soon as it boots up, he starts typing on it.

Steve tries not to stare. From what he remembers, he’s never even seen Bucky using a typewriter. He guesses Hydra probably taught Bucky how to use different types of equipment that he needed access to during missions.

Bucky’s typing on it, moving his fingers over the keys and the little pad with an easy comfort, and reading whatever he’s looking at. Steve notes that he only uses his right hand, keeping the metal arm propped on the table. Using only one hand doesn’t seem to slow him down and he seems perfectly at ease with the computer.

“Can I see?” Steve asks, overcome with curiosity.

Bucky shakes his head. “It’s a surprise.”

Steve stares at him, surprised by the confidence in the answer. Bucky stops typing and glances at Steve.

“Is that okay?” he asks, sounding unsure.

Steve grins. “Absolutely. I love surprises. That’s really nice of you, Buck.”

Bucky smiles at him shyly and then ducks behind the screen and continues typing. When he’s finished, he turns off the computer and heads to the fridge. He pulls out enough sandwiches and bottles of water for two people and puts them in his backpack.

Then he grabs Steve’s jacket from where it’s thrown over the back of the couch and tosses it towards him.

“Get ready. We’re going.”

Bucky is pulling his own jacket and sunglasses on—two new items that had recently become part of Bucky’s pile of belongings when they began spending more time outside—and grabs his bike helmet from a hook by the door.

Steve hurries after him, grabbing his own sunglasses and bike helmet. He quickly locks the door behind himself and then jogs after Bucky, who’s already halfway down the hall, heading towards the storage room where they keep their bikes.

Once they’re outside Steve lets Bucky take the lead. They make their way down some residential streets and then cycle down Constitution Avenue, passing the Smithsonian museums.

It’s a beautiful sunny day and Steve is more than happy to enjoy the fall air and look at the people they’re passing and not have to worry over where they’re going.

They turn down 17th street and coast along in the light mid-morning traffic when Bucky suddenly pulls off the street and onto the sidewalk, heading straight for a public bike rack. They park and lock up their bikes—Steve having bought them bike locks the day after they determined they’d be using them quite a bit.

When Steve straightens from locking up his own bike, he takes a moment to look at where they ended up.

In the distance he can see the Washington Monument, the tall white spire standing tall against the backdrop of a gorgeous blue sky. Behind him, he can see the white-pillared building containing the Lincoln Memorial.

He’s visited both places before. The one place he hasn’t been to visit since he’s moved to Washington is right where they’re standing.

Bucky is staring at him. “You know where we are?”

Steve nods. “Yes.”

“Is it okay?”

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

Bucky turns and starts walking towards the memorial. Steve follows along.

Bucky chooses the walkway on the right and heads down the granite stoned incline. The sound of rushing water from the fountains in the distance covers the noise of cars zooming down the street behind them.

As they walk, Bucky inspects the [bronze carvings along the walls](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f3Nq7bt_j9c/Ti2ZhqOVdkI/AAAAAAAAh84/-LtwyNXlsi4/s1600/LI-archi-WWT-053b.jpg). He points at one of them—an image showing two soldiers, one crouching behind a machine gun and the other standing behind him, binoculars in one hand and pointing into the distance with the other.

“I remember this,” he says.

Steve steps closer and inspects the image. “You think you’re one of these two people, Buck?”

“No. The photographer was sitting beside me. He took the photo.”

Steve stares at the carved image. The two soldiers must have been in the 107th with Bucky. The carving doesn’t include enough details to clearly make out their faces but Bucky seems absolutely certain. How bizarre it is that two people who Bucky had fought beside seventy years ago are immortalized on this wall from a photo taken at random.

They continue walking down the granite walkway, peering at the other carvings. They pass under one of the two large pavilions that stand at either end of the oval shaped memorial. The word [‘Atlantic’ is carved into this one](https://portlandermiamian.files.wordpress.com/2015/07/img_1707.jpg), the other represents the Pacific Theatre.

“Buck, why did you choose this walkway? Why not the other one?”

Bucky throws him a look like he’s an idiot. “This one’s ours. The other one wasn’t.”

Steve pauses as they pass through the pavilion and both of them stare up at the [four bronze eagles](http://img13.deviantart.net/3882/i/2010/089/a/8/wwii_memorial_eagle_wreath_by_lariel113.jpg), holding a suspended bronze laurel wreath.

Steve notices he nearly stepped on a [bronze military medal carving](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d7/WWII_Seal.JPG), inlaid in the granite stones, directly beneath the wreath.

Bucky notices him staring at it. It shows a woman standing with a foot on a helmet and pieces of a broken sword in each hand. The words World War 2 are on either side of her.

“That’s the World War II victory medal. We should have both gotten one. But everybody thought we were dead so we didn’t get one.”

Steve nods. Apparently Bucky had used his computer time that morning to research the memorial, allowing him to play tour guide.

They make their way out into the main part of the memorial, walking around the edge of the [large pool in the center](http://www.aviewoncities.com/img/washington/kveus6303s.jpg). There are beautiful fountains spraying in the pool, masking the traffic noise from the nearby street.

Steve stares at the large granite pillars lining the edge of the memorial, each one bearing the name of a state and a bronze wreath. He points at the [New York one](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/o23jGerUdSc/maxresdefault.jpg).

“Hey, there’s ours, Buck.”

Bucky nods.

They continue walking, reading the inscriptions on the stones, quotes that Steve vaguely remembers reading in newspapers or watching on television sets whenever he was close to one. They could never afford to have a television of their own.

Bucky comes to a stop before [an inscription dated June 6, 1944](https://portlandermiamian.files.wordpress.com/2015/07/img_1708.jpg). D-Day.

“That was important. We should have been there. But everyone thought we were dead.”

Steve clenches his jaw, the guilt starting to gnaw at him. “Buck, if I thought there was the slightest chance that you had survived the fall, I would have looked for you.”

Bucky turns and stares at him. “I know,” he says, with utter conviction in his voice, like that was a fact that didn’t need any debate.

He turns back to the inscription. “It just would have been nice to finish it.”

Steve nods. He’s seen movies showing the ending of the war. He can’t remember how often he had dreamed about returning to Brooklyn with Bucky when the war ended. They’d be coming home as heroes, having finished the job they had set out to do and returning to their well-earned normal lives.

But they hadn’t seen any of that. They had both been yanked out of their time, snatched up before they could finish the fight they had given up so much for, and when they woke up, the fight had ended long ago.

“Yeah, Buck, it would have been nice to finish it. At least the rest of the Howlies got to see it.”

Bucky continues walking. They come to a stop before a curved wall, separated from the walkway they’re standing on by a small pool of water. The words ‘Here we mark the price of freedom’ are engraved in a long piece of granite placed by the small pool’s edge. [The wall is lined with hundreds of gold stars](http://josephpersico.com/images/WWII%20Memorial%20Site%204%2027%2004%20image%2017%20S%20\(c\)%20R%20Latoff%2004%20-%20Full%20Size.jpg).

“Each one represents 100 soldiers who died. There are 4048 stars,” Bucky says.

Steve blinks. “Technically we’re both part of a star, huh?”

They would have both been listed as deceased back in 1944, joining the list of over 400,000 Americans who had perished during the war.

Steve starts feeling overwhelmed. He knows there’s a reason he’s avoided coming here the entire time he’s been in Washington.

_Here we mark the price of freedom._

He presses his lips together and turns away from the wall, facing the fountains in the pool instead.

“You know, technically, I feel like I’m still part of that star. Some days I feel like I should be part of that wall and not stuck here, in this ridiculous time,” he whispers. Mainly he’s talking to himself, but he feels Bucky taking a step towards him.

He feels gentle fingers on his chin and finds his head being raised until he’s looking at Bucky. Bucky’s frowning at him.

“I’m glad you’re here. I wouldn’t want to be here without you. I would want to be part of a star too.”

Steve stares at him for a long moment. “Well, that’s appropriate, seeing how the only reason I’m happy not to be part of that star is because I have you here. If we don’t feel like living for our own sakes, we’ll live for each other. That’ll have to be good enough for now.”

Bucky nods.

They continue walking, heading over to the Pacific side of the memorial. They stop and sit on the granite benches lining the pool and Bucky pulls out sandwiches and water for them.

While they eat in silence, they watch the fountains spraying water in the pool and people wandering around.

“The war ended a long time ago but I think we haven’t come home yet. I got lost for a while and I don’t know if I know where I am or where I’m going,” he hears Bucky say.

Steve is glad he’s wearing his sunglasses. Nobody can see his tears.

“Me too, Buck,” he whispers, his voice shaky.

Bucky is silent for a moment, watching tourists taking photos of themselves in front of the wall with the stars. “We’ll figure it out together,” he says eventually, sounding fully confident.

It was one of the most Bucky-like things he has said since 1944.

For the millionth time in his life, Steve’s immensely glad that his heart had chosen Bucky to love.

*             *             *

That night, Steve has a nightmare about the train.

It’s a nightmare he’s had so many times that he can’t believe he still wakes up, screaming Bucky’s name and his face covered in tears, feeling sick with fear.

The scene is so familiar that Steve still feels the biting cold wind on his face, his hands clutching at the frozen bar. He’s calling Bucky’s name, fear clutching his heart so badly that he thinks he’s having a heart attack. He stretches out a hand, yelling for Bucky to take his hand, his voice nearly lost in the howling wind—

—and suddenly, he feels Bucky’s hand in his. With a disorienting jerk, he’s yanked into wakefulness, still screaming Bucky’s name.

He’s gasping for breath, soaked in sweat and sobbing hysterically. He’s staring at his hand, which is being clutched by another hand, which is attached to a living, breathing Bucky.

“You—you fell, Buck,” he gasps out.

“I’m okay, Steve. You’re in a safe place. We’re okay.” He sounds as if he’s been repeating himself for a while.

Steve blinks a few times, wiping the tears off his face with the hand not clutching Bucky’s, still not fully free of the nightmare.

“But—you, you fell.”

“That was a long time ago. We’re not on the train. We’re in your bedroom and it’s a safe place. We’re okay.”

Steve’s heart is slowly calming and he realizes he’s in his bedroom and Bucky’s got long hair. Both of those things mean they’re definitely not on the train.

He’s still clutching Bucky’s right hand and he’s immensely grateful that Bucky doesn’t seem uncomfortable with the contact.

“Sorry. I haven’t had a bad one like that in a while.” His voice is hoarse.

“It’s okay. You always take care of me when I have bad dreams. Now I’m taking care of you.”

Steve smiled. “Thanks, Buck.”

They stay like that for a long moment, allowing Steve to fully calm down. He finally manages to let go of Bucky’s hand.

Bucky is staring down at his hand. “Do you want to keep holding it?”

“What?”

“You can keep holding my hand. So you can make sure I don’t fall again.”

Steve stares at him, trying to see if Bucky seems uncomfortable with the idea. But Bucky is staring back at him, serene and calm.

He nods. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

Bucky gingerly seats himself on the edge of the bed and leans against the headboard, holding out his hand. Steve lays himself back down and takes Bucky’s hand.

He closes his eyes.

“Remember: you’re okay, Steve. You’re in a safe place and we’re okay,” he hears Bucky whispering.

He’s asleep within minutes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested, [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n-L0cdQLPnY) is a guided video tour of the World War 2 Memorial.
> 
> The cover seen above which I had created includes iconic images from the World War 2 memorial which I thought fit nicely with the story.
> 
> Please excuse any date issues throughout this chapter. There are many interpretations of when exactly Steve/Bucky "died". In my interpretation, I chose early 1944 (which matches the 1944 date on Bucky's memorial in the Smithsonian) and I assume Steve "died" a few days/weeks after Bucky fell.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful comments and kudos! In this chapter - our boys have their first little spat since 1944, and Bucky gets his first taste of shopping in a 21st century grocery store.

_“The winning lemonade belongs to—”_

Steve holds his breath, clutching the armrest of the couch. On the TV screen, the female judge dramatically tears off the cover hiding the color of the winning team on the lemonade jug.

A red dot.

“Yes!” Steve raises triumphant fists into the air. Bucky huffs from where he’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch and mutters “Damn,” under his breath. His metal arm is resting on the floor beside him and his knees are pulled up to his chest, his right arm draped over them.

Steve is clapping in delight as the British judge congratulates the red team for their victory.

“I _told_ you the younger team was doing better. The older kids had too many people trying to be in charge.”

As the red team screeches in delight, the blue team cowers together in their small wading pool, shooting fearful glances at the yellow balloon hanging above them.

Steve knows what’s coming—the judges had been clear on what the losing team’s punishment would be—and his hand reaches for the remote to turn the show off until the punishment is over. But he pauses just before he hits the power button, remembering Sam’s words from a few days ago.

He knows seeing the kids being drenched by a wave of lemonade from above may remind Bucky of his fear of showering and whatever is connected to that, but Sam had told him he shouldn’t shield Bucky from small triggers such as these. Bucky will have to learn how to deal with things like this in order to function in the world on his own.

Reluctantly, he moves his hand away from the remote and also resists the urge to touch Bucky.

They both watch as the yellow balloon above the blue team is pierced, drenching the losing team in lemonade.

He sees Bucky’s hand momentarily tighten its grip on his knee and his jaw clenches a bit. Other than that, he’s calmly watching the screen.

The blue team is still screeching from shock while the red team laughs with delight. But Steve is happy to see the blue team is mostly back to smiling and nobody’s crying.

“The blue team’s wasn’t bad. The lady judge said it had just a bit more sugar than the other team’s,” Bucky mutters, obviously still sore at having chosen the wrong team.

Steve opens his mouth to defend his winning team’s lemonade, when the judges decide to make things fair and drench the red team as well. The yellow balloon above them bursts and it’s now the red team screeching while the blue team laughs.

Bucky is grinning. “See? The judges agree.”

Steve scoffs and smoothers his relieved smile at how well Bucky dealt with the situation.

They continue watching, interjecting commentary from time to time as the blue team members go through the elimination challenge. As one of the judges cuts into one of the contestant’s steaks, he’s asking her what temperature she thinks it is. She replies medium rare. The moment he cuts into it and shows the camera the color, Steve is nodding.

“She got it. Medium rare.”

Sure enough, the British judge agrees.

“How did you know?” Bucky asks.

Steve shrugs. “I spend a lot of time watching these cooking shows. It’s not hard.”

When the contestant states afterwards that she hit it ‘out of the ballpark’, Bucky starts a bit.

“I know that. What does that mean?”

“It’s a baseball term, Buck. It means she did a really great job. Like when a batter hits the ball out of the park and gets a home run.”

Bucky nods. They continue watching one contestant after another present their surf and turf dishes.

Steve cringes when a contestant presents her dish. The butter isn’t clarified properly and both the filet mignon and her lobster are undercooked. “She’s going home.”

Bucky doesn’t offer his own thoughts. Steve knows Bucky doesn’t totally agree with the show’s concept. He’s groused at how strange the entire concept is—eliminating somebody from a cooking show even though they cooked what was requested. Everything that’s cooked is edible, some things might taste better than other things but the results are always edible. Sometimes people are eliminated from the show for how the food tastes or how it looks, another concept that’s odd. As long as food is edible, Bucky thinks they all deserve to win. But he enjoys watching the progress of the contestants and quietly rooting for the underdogs.

By the end of the show, Steve names the two contestants who he thinks are going home. He sounds terribly sad about it. They wait as the judges present their choices for the bottom three and then end up eliminating two of them.

It’s the same two that Steve had named.

He sighs sadly and Bucky reaches over and gently pats his knee with his right hand. “It’s okay, Stevie.”

Steve blinks at him. It was the first time Bucky had called him by his childhood nickname since he’d left for war.

As the episode ends, Steve grabs the remote and checks what’s coming up next.

“The house hunting show is on. It’s one we haven’t seen. Wanna watch that or find another food show?”

“What do you do?”

Steve doesn’t understand his question. He frowns down at him. Bucky’s still staring at the television. “What?”

“What do you _do_?” Bucky repeats, putting more emphasis into the last word, as if that clarifies the question.

“I have no idea what you mean, Buck.”

“Where are your friends?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say ‘what friends?’, but decides that’s being a bit uncharitable towards Sam and Natasha. He might not be close to the other Avengers, but he does consider those two friends.

He just hasn’t felt like seeing them very much. Well, he’s been putting a bit more effort into seeing Sam—he’s sure the guy would set up camp outside his front door anyway if he ignored him for more than three days—and Natasha was busy elsewhere, which was convenient.

“I go running with Sam all the time.”

“You go three times a week.”

“I have you.”

Bucky is frowning, still staring at the television. “You don’t do anything.”

Steve is starting to get offended. He does a lot of stuff. He takes care of Bucky, he makes sure they get out on their bikes or go for walks, he’s chosen some television shows that he watches regularly, he sketches. He does a lot of stuff. He tells Bucky that.

“You don’t do things that you like.”

“Of course I do! I like—”

“You need to do more things you like. If I die tomorrow, you would go back to going to the museum all the time and watching television. You need to do more things.”

“Buck, don’t say things like—”

“You should cook. You used to like cooking.”

Bucky isn’t wrong—Steve did like cooking. Most of the time they didn’t have much in the way of ingredients, but Steve liked seeing how many different ways he could put the same ingredients together to make different meals. When they lived together, Steve had taken to doing the household chores and cooking when he couldn’t find work, and Bucky was always willing to try whatever concoction he had thrown together. It had honestly never occurred to him that cooking today would be even more fun than it had been back then. The amount of ingredients available to him—and the funds to buy them with—were practically unlimited compared to seventy years ago.

But like most of those things, it had never occurred to him. His brain had been stuck on neutral for a long while. Taking care of Bucky takes up a lot of his time and thoughts, and adding activities like the biking and television watching also helps fill up the empty darkness that sits deep in his gut, but it honestly hadn’t occurred to him to try to find more hobbies for himself, despite Sam’s constant reminders.

But despite Bucky’s point being valid, Steve is starting to get annoyed at the conversation. Not only does he have Sam constantly on his ass about doing more stuff, but now Bucky’s joined in too. Not to mention that Barnes wasn’t letting him finish a damn sentence.

“I do cook, Barnes! I cook every damn day for us.”

Bucky pushes himself off the floor and heads into the kitchen. He reaches into the cupboard and pulls out a can of soup and sets it on the counter. “This isn’t cooking.”

“So?”

Bucky stares at him as if he’s slow. “You need more stuff to do. You liked cooking. Why don’t you try doin’ that again?”

Steve shrugs and stares at the television. He doesn’t have the faintest idea where he’d start. “What would I cook?”

Bucky abruptly opens the laptop that’s on the kitchen table and boots it up. He starts typing on it, frowning in concentration at whatever he’s looking at.

Steve thinks that maybe Bucky has decided to finish the conversation—he often deems a conversation finished these days when Steve only considers it halfway done. He turns his attention back to the television and focuses on the house hunting show. During their argument, they had missed the first house being shown entirely. Steve is irrationally annoyed at Bucky over that.

While the couple is moving from the second house to the third one, Steve suddenly finds the laptop being shoved in his face. “You know I don’t like using that thing,” he complains.

He feels Bucky sitting down next to him and realizes it’s the first time Bucky’s sat on the couch. Bucky keeps the laptop in his own lap and tilts it so Steve can see.

“Look.”

Steve jerks his chin at the television. “I’m watching the show.”

Bucky huffs in annoyance and grabs the remote from him. He presses a few buttons and then turns off the television, tossing the remote back down. “It’s recording the show now. You can watch it later.”

Steve wants to ask how on earth the television is capable of recording the show and why Bucky knows how to do it when Steve doesn’t, but he’s too embarrassed to ask. Sam had helped him order the installation of the television and internet but Steve had been too exhausted to bother keeping up with the technobabble taking place when the installation man had tried explaining things to him.

He’s heard Bucky watching TV at night so he probably figured it out on his own.

That annoys him too. It’s Steve’s apartment and Barnes has been here for like a day and knows how to do everything in this century.

“Quit being mad, Rogers. I’ll teach you how to use the television later. Look at the computer.”

Steve turns at stares at the screen. It’s covered in multiple pictures of various steak dishes, all of them in small squares. Bucky moves his finger on the small pad and the pictures move past, replaced by others.

“This website has tons of recipes. People make the meals and then leave reviews telling other people if the recipe is stupid or not. It tells you exactly what you need and how to do it.”

Steve studies some of the pictures, intrigued.

“What sort of recipes are there?”

“Anything you want. I typed in surf and turf—that’s the name of the thing the kids were making, right? Up here—” he points at a long white bar at the top. “You type in whatever food you want, then you click the little magnifying glass and it’ll find results.”

Steve studies the results and points at the first one. It has five little stars underneath it, which he assumes means it’s good.

“How do you make that one?”

Bucky clicks on it. They can see the picture of the meal and the title. There are two ingredients listed.

“Where are the other ingredients?”

“You have to scroll down. You click on the little down arrow here—” Bucky demonstrates and the page slowly moves down, showing more ingredients.

“We don’t have most of these things, Buck.”

“Then we go buy them.”

Steve reads over the directions and thinks he might be able to pull it off. It doesn’t sound too hard. Just to see what else the website offers, he gives Bucky the names of some other dishes he remembers from past cooking episodes he’s watched and Bucky helps him look at different recipes.

They make note of some of them that Steve deems interesting.

He’s surprised to find himself getting excited at the prospect of actually cooking some of these things. He doesn’t remember getting this excited over anything not related to Bucky since he came out of the ice.

*             *             *

Steve is peering into their fridge and realizes it’s high time he restocked on food. “Buck, I have to get groceries today,” he calls into the bathroom where Bucky is brushing his teeth.

He hears the sink faucet turning on and off and then Bucky appears beside him, combing his hair.

“When are we going?”

“You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to. The grocery store tends to be crowded and it’s not like the grocery stores from our day.”

Bucky stares at him, not seeming a bit phased. “I want to come.”

“Okey-doke.” Steve is thrilled that Bucky seems excited about going out, but he’s slightly apprehensive about the situation.

So far, they’d spent a lot of time in their apartment and during their outings they’re always outside with plenty of space around them. If there are too many people around, they can always choose to bike somewhere else.

They wouldn’t have that luxury in the grocery store.

“You wanna take the bus or call a hackie?”

Bucky’s frowning at him. “We can’t afford to take a taxi, Stevie.”

“We can afford to take as many taxi rides as we want. We’ve got lots of money these days, remember?”

Bucky seems uncomfortable with the idea. “That don’t mean we have to spend all of it in silly ways. Forget the hackie, we can take the bus.”

“Alright.”

Steve distracts himself by making a shopping list. Bucky reminds him that he wanted to try one of the recipes from the site they had found. Without needing to be asked, Bucky opens the laptop and finds the surf and turf recipe they had chosen. He turns the screen and Steve writes down the list of ingredients. Then Bucky flips the screen to another one—a lemon pie that Steve had drooled over—and those ingredients are added to the list.

While Bucky turns off the computer, Steve makes sure they have enough change for the bus fare.

He shows Bucky where the nearest bus stop is and how to read the electronic sign that shows when the next bus is coming.

Bucky lets Steve get on first and carefully copies the way he pays his fare and gets his ticket. Steve had hoped he would remember that they had done this a few times in Brooklyn—when they could afford to—but he seems very unsure about the entire situation so he probably doesn’t remember.

Bucky’s eyes dart around at the other riders on the bus and he chooses a seat near the rear doors. He picks the aisle seat and Steve squeezes past him to sit by the window.

He can see Bucky clutching his seat with both hands. He hopes the metal one isn’t causing any permanent damage to the seat.

“It’s okay, Buck. None of these people want to hurt us,” he says quietly.

Bucky appears not to have heard him, still staring at everybody on the bus, carefully monitoring where their hands are and what they are doing. Each time the bus stops and somebody walks down the aisle to exit by the rear doors, Bucky monitors their progress, staring at them until they’ve stepped off and the doors are shutting behind them.

A teenager makes his way down the aisle at one point, his backpack hanging off one shoulder. As he passes Bucky, his backpack accidentally smacks Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky’s up in seconds, his metal hand clenched in the backpack’s fabric. The kid is nearly jerked off his feet by the time Steve sees what’s happening.

“Buck! Let him go! It’s okay—”

“What—what the fuck, man? What’s your problem?” The kid has regained his balance, hanging off one of the poles in the aisle and he’s glaring Bucky, trying to rip his bag out of his grasp.

People are starting to stare at them and Steve can see the driver throwing concerned glances in his rear-view mirror.

He stands and puts an arm across Bucky’s chest, grabbing the metal arm. “Buck, it’s okay. The kid didn’t mean to hit you with the bag. He’s no threat. Let him go. Please.”

Bucky reluctantly releases the bag, glaring at the kid, who huffs and stomps off down the aisle, muttering about crazy people under his breath.

Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s jacket sleeve and yanks him back down into his seat. He throws a tight smile at the other riders before sinking down into his own seat.

He keeps a tight grip on the jacket. “Buck? Talk to me. Are you okay?”

Bucky’s jaw is clenched and he’s extremely tense.

“If you want to get off the bus, we can get off. It’s okay. We can try again tomorrow.”

“No!” Bucky spits out, sounding angry.

“I know this is a lot—”

“I can do this!” he snarls under his breath.

“But you don’t have to. You know that, right?”

Bucky finally turns and looks at him. “Yes, I know. But I want to keep trying.”

“Okay. If there’s any future contact from strangers, you have to assess whether they mean you harm or not. If not, you have to try to react calmly, Buck.”

“I’ll try.”

Steve remembers something. “But it’s good you didn’t pull the knife. That can lead to major trouble.”

“Don’t have it with me.”

Steve stares at him in surprise. “Since when?”

“Since we started biking. Not safe to be riding a bike with a knife up my sleeve. It’s in your kitchen.”

They lapse into silence for a moment. Bucky is still tense and he abruptly stands up. “Switch with me,” he says. Steve gets up and squeezes past him so he’s sitting in the aisle seat.

As soon as Steve’s sitting again, he notices Bucky staring at him. “You okay?”

“I might fall again.”

Steve frowns. “What? Are you feeling dizzy? What do you mean you’re gonna fall again?”

Bucky huffs out an exasperated breath and grabs Steve’s hand with his right, tightly squeezing it.

Steve stares down at their clasped hands for a moment. When he opens his mouth to ask, Bucky beats him to it.

“It’s so I don’t fall again.”

Steve nods.

They keep holding hands until they’re at their stop. Steve notices Bucky’s grasp loosens from its death grip as the ride progresses, and he spends a bit more time looking out the window at the passing scenery.

Nobody can see their clasped hands while they’re sitting, but as soon as they reach their stop and Steve stands, Bucky reluctantly drops his hand.

They step off the bus and start walking along the crowded sidewalk, heading towards one of the large grocery stores.

People brush past them constantly, talking loudly, bags bumping into everything. Steve can see Bucky getting tense again. Wordlessly, he reaches down and grabs Bucky’s right hand.

Bucky immediately tenses even more and yanks his hand back.

“Oh, sorry, Buck. I thought it would make you feel better.”

“People can see, Rogers! Jesus!” he hisses.

It takes Steve a moment to understand what Bucky’s worried about. “Oh, Buck, that doesn’t matter anymore. People hold hands all the time.”

“People can hold hands whenever they like, but not when they’re two men in broad daylight.”

“Now they can, Buck. Anybody can hold hands with anybody these days. Nobody will say anything. Besides, if somebody does care, it doesn’t matter. I want you to feel safe and that’s the most important thing. I don’t care what anybody else thinks.”

He steps closer to Bucky and lowers his voice so nobody will hear. “We’re 97 and 98 years old, respectively. We fought Nazis in World War 2 and grew up in the Great Depression. We’ve seen and done things that even some history books don’t include anymore. So if I want to wander around, holding my best friend’s hand, I can damn well do it.”

Bucky gives him a small smile. “Watch your mouth, Rogers.”

Steve grins. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that.”

“It feels very familiar coming out of my mouth.”

Steve holds out his hand. “Shall we conquer 21st century style grocery shopping?”

Bucky nods, taking hold of his hand. “I’m an assassin and you’ve killed Hitler over 200 times, so I think we should be able to handle this.”

Steve bursts out laughing and they start heading towards the large sliding doors of the store. “Come on, Barnes. Let’s go conquer.”

*             *             *

Despite Bucky’s bravado, grocery shopping is difficult for him. It’s clear he’s never been in such a store. Steve remembers having felt equally overwhelmed when he first started exploring these big supermarkets. The piles and piles of food, the huge assortment of choices, the aisles that seemed to go on forever and the people pushing overladen carts are all overwhelming.

Their little grocery store on the corner in Brooklyn wasn’t anything like this. He's seen that such little convenience stores still existed here and there, but going shopping wasn't high on his list of favourite activities so going to a place that had everything he needed was a definite bonus.

Bucky still gravitates towards the cheapest option for everything and Steve has to argue over nearly every purchase. Bucky nearly goes into a panic when he sees how much toilet paper costs, and the price of things like chicken and apples, none of which is helped by Steve trying to explain how much money he has in his account.

Steve knows the feeling. He still can’t wrap his head around the huge inflation that he’s constantly faced with. He guesses it would have been different for people who had slowly grown with the inflation, but to go from things costing 25 cents to costing 7 dollars is immensely jarring.

Bucky throws a fit when he sees how much the pre-made sandwiches are which they had been eating nearly every day for lunch. “We can make our own sandwiches,” he decides, steering their cart towards the bread aisle.

Bucky seems to be okay as long as he’s steering the cart and heading towards specific destinations. It seems to make it easier for him to navigate amongst the crowds of people. Steve trails after him, close enough that he can easily step up to cover his hand on the handlebar with his own when he gets tense, but far enough to give him his space.

When they’re finished, Bucky insists on learning how to use the self-checkout. It’s something Steve has avoided thus far, so they both struggle through it, learning how to scan the items properly and reading the prompts on the machine. It takes much longer than if they had used the traditional checkout, but Steve has to admit he feels an immense sense of satisfaction when they finish bagging their purchases and head out the door.

He can see Bucky’s looking tired from the entire ordeal and he casually brings up the option of catching a taxi back to the apartment, but Bucky shakes his head.

“I want to finish it.”

So they ride the bus back. Steve is impressed to note Bucky remembers exactly what bus number they need to take and recognizes their bus stop nearly before Steve does.

They struggle into Steve’s apartment with their bags and start putting everything away. Steve can see Bucky looks exhausted.

“Alright, Sergeant. That’s a job well done. Go have a nap before you fall over.”

*             *             *

Once Bucky wakes up from his nap and crawls out from behind the rocking chair, Steve gets him to pull up the surf and turf recipe on the laptop. Bucky sits at the kitchen table, reading out the ingredients list while Steve retrieves the items and puts them on the counter.

Then Bucky reads out each step one by one and Steve carries it out. The recipe calls for using a grill, which they don’t have, but after consulting the internet, Bucky tells him that using a frying pan is just as effective.

Bucky is careful to stay out of Steve’s way, staying at the table and letting Steve do things at his pace. The recipe had only discussed the cooking of the steaks and shrimp but Steve had decided to add in making a side of asparagus as one of the kids on the show had done.

Once he’s done, Steve presents their dishes with a flourish, a smile on his face.

He feels a ridiculously huge sense of accomplishment seeing the steak, shrimp and asparagus on the plates. He grins at Bucky and hands him his plate.

“Here you go, Chef Barnes. May I present: surf and turf with a side of asparagus.”

Bucky nods and frowns at the steak quizzically while poking it with his fork like the judges on the show do. “What’s the temperature on it, Rogers?”

Steve snickers. When Bucky glares at him, he puts on a straight face. “Medium rare, Chef.”

Bucky pokes the steak again. “You sure about that?”

“Yup.”

“Confident. We’ll see if you’re right.”

He cuts a piece of his steak and lifts it up for inspection. Steve grins. “Medium rare.”

Bucky makes a big show out of smelling it and then popping it into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully, the same way the judge with the glasses always does. He takes a bite of a shrimp and cuts off a piece of asparagus too. He chews everything, a considering frown on his face.

Steve is dying. “Well? What d’ya think?”

“Hmm...”

“What the hell does ‘hmm’ mean?!”

“It’s alright.”

Steve glares. “ _Alright_?! That’s all I get?”

Bucky starts laughing quietly, tiny sounds escaping his mouth. His eyes are twinkling with amusement.

“It’s damn good, Stevie. Sit down and start eating or I’m gonna eat yours too.”

Steve grins happily and sits down to enjoy dinner.

He feels fantastic, and not just because they’re eating something more than frozen chicken nuggets.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Bucky makes more strides forward, there's some cooking, there's some cuddling and Steve has a few bad days. Enjoy!

Steve finishes mixing the pancake batter and checks the frying pan to see if it’s hot enough. Bucky’s in Steve’s bedroom, vacuuming.

Steve pours some batter into the pan, swirls it around and waits for it to cook. He starts pulling dishes out of the cupboards and sets the table. After pouring them both some orange juice, he takes a moment to flip the pancake.

Bucky appears in the hallway, pushing the vacuum cleaner along. When he sees Steve, he gives a sharp whistle. When Steve glances up, Bucky throws a dirty sock at him.

“Buck! I’m cooking here!”

“And I’m cleaning. Why is there one sock on the floor in your room?”

Steve flips the finished pancake onto the stack of other pancakes and pours more batter into the pan. “Are you mad cause there’s a dirty sock on the floor or because there’s only one?”

Bucky glares. “Both! Have some respect for your clothes, for Christ’s sake, Rogers!”

With an annoyed huff, he continues vacuuming the hallway and starts on the living room.

Steve watches him out of the corner of his eye. He feels that happy glow at Bucky’s progress, but for the first time, he begins to realize that he may be looking at the beginning of the end.

Once Bucky fully regains his independence, he’ll probably want to leave. Oh, Steve has no doubt that they’ll stay in touch, but he can’t imagine that Bucky will want to stay with him longer than necessary. Bucky Barnes had always been the type to want to explore the world, and for the first time they have the money and resources for Bucky to do just that. Steve… Steve doesn’t have the energy or the desire to explore the world. He prefers staying in his cozy apartment with his sketchbook and television.

There’s no way Bucky will want to stay with Steve instead, especially because Steve has never gotten his head screwed on straight since coming out of the ice. Sure, he’s getting better, but not enough that Bucky would want to stay long term.

Bucky finishes vacuuming and Steve puts the stack of pancakes on the table. The vacuum is turned off and Bucky joins him at the table.

Steve has balled up the sock and stuffed it into his pocket to avoid further arguments.

As they start eating, Bucky makes an appreciative sound. “These are really good, Stevie,” he says, mouth stuffed full of pancakes.

“Jesus, Barnes. Didn’t I teach you better than to talk with your mouth full?”

He grins as Bucky rolls his eyes at him. He forces his earlier melancholy thoughts out of his mind, not wanting to bring Bucky down.

“You wanna go biking today?”

Bucky nods and makes a big show out of swallowing before answering. “Sure. Your turn to pick where we go.”

“Okey-doke. We’ll take some of the stir fry from last night for lunch.”

*             *             *

Steve is leading, heading along one of his favourite routes. Bucky found them a website with various Washington bike trails and they’ve spent time exploring all of them. They take a bridge across the river and head down the parkway, the Potomac snaking along beside them.

After a few hours of leisurely cycling along, they reach the spot Steve likes to stop at for lunch. They park their bikes and sit on one of the benches. Bucky takes out the plastic containers with their lunch and hands one to Steve, along with a fork.

It’s a weekday so there are fewer people around than on the weekends, but Steve likes the quiet.

They eat in silence, watching the river and the occasional rider or pedestrian who passes.

When they’re finished, Bucky puts away their dishes and they share a bottle of water.

They relax for a while longer until Steve notices Bucky looking tired.

He still isn’t sleeping at night, preferring to keep watch over Steve while he sleeps. It means Steve has to make sure they always get home in time for Bucky to have enough time to sleep before nightfall.

They get back on their bikes and head back, enjoying the fresh air and beautiful view of the river.

Once they’re back home, Steve settles on the couch with his sketchpad, expecting Bucky to go behind his chair for a nap.

He sees Bucky hesitating by the couch.

“You okay, Buck?”

Bucky’s staring at him, looking slightly freaked out.

“Why do you like sleeping in the bed?”

Steve fiddles with his pencil for a moment before responding, needing a few seconds to catch up with the random topic.

“Uh, I find it comfortable. It’s relaxing and cozy. Being under the covers reminds me of being hugged.”

Bucky stares at him. “I used to sleep in a bed.”

“Yes, you did.”

“We used to sleep on a bed together.”

“Yup. We shared a bed a lot. When we were young, I had my own bed but you always had to share with your youngest sister. You spent a lot of nights sharing with me. You used to joke that I took up less room than your sister did, even when she was a baby.”

“I only remember one bed. The wallpaper was orange.”

“That was our apartment when we were older. The apartment wasn’t like this one. It just had the one bed and the couch, but we shared the bed all the time.”

Bucky’s shifting from one foot to the other, his gaze settling on Steve for a few moments before dropping to the floor and then jerking up to Steve again. This continues until Steve finally starts to understand what he’s asking.

“Do you wanna nap in my bed, Buck? Or the other bed?”

Bucky shrugs, not seeming enthused about either option.

“Do you want me to keep you company in the bed? Maybe that’ll make it feel less strange.”

Bucky nods jerkily before he’s turning and disappearing down the hallway.

Steve brings his sketchpad and pencil case with him and joins Bucky in the spare bedroom.

Steve hadn’t been in here since the first day when he had made up the bed. The cover is pristine and doesn’t look like anybody’s touched it since.

“I’ve been practicing lying down on it at night,” Bucky admits, carefully putting his backpack on the bed.

Steve is surprised. Apparently Bucky remembers how to make a bed from his military days. “Good for you. That’s a big step.”

Bucky is staring at the bed, apprehension clear on his face. But then he pulls himself together and gingerly sits down on the covers. He glances at Steve and gestures towards the other side of the bed.

“Come sit.”

Steve obediently lowers himself onto the bed and leans back against the headboard, arranging one of the pillows behind his back.

Bucky watches him and then carefully lies down. He takes his backpack and puts it between his and Steve’s pillow. Bucky gives it a worried glance as he lowers his head to his own pillow.

Steve gives him a smile. “It’s alright, Buck. I’ll keep an eye on the backpack and on you. I’ll keep watch. Nothing’s gonna happen to you or the bag, I promise. If you change your mind, you can get up anytime you want.”

Bucky stares at him for a while longer before he visibly steels himself and forces his eyes closed.

Steve opens his sketchpad and starts drawing the window and the tree he can see through it to give himself something to do. He carefully doesn’t stare at Bucky, listening to his breathing.

Bucky remains tense and his breathing sounds panicked.

When he doesn’t seem to be calming down, Steve drops his left hand near Bucky’s prone body.

“My hand’s here if you need it, Buck.”

Steve keeps his eyes glued to his sketchpad as he continues sketching the window. Gradually, he feels Bucky’s right hand lightly grasp two of his fingers and hold on to them.

They stay like that, and after about an hour, Steve can hear Bucky’s breathing lengthening. It doesn’t sound like he’s sleeping deeply, but he’s definitely dozing.

Steve considers it a win.

*             *             *

They’re watching a show about how things are made in factories. This episode focuses on how hot sauce, chocolate mints, underfloor heating and pillows are made.

They both find the show fascinating.

Bucky has taught Steve how he can find shows he wants to watch and how to tell the little box below the television to record episodes. It’s fantastic. He sets all of his shows to record current and older episodes. He always has at least 50 recorded episodes waiting for him to watch.

He’s doodling on a sketchpad as he watches. Bucky is sitting on the couch beside him, the laptop in his lap. Steve had lamented about the fact that he had found multiple waffle recipes he wanted to try but they didn’t have a waffle maker. Bucky had decided to start looking up where to find one.

“Hey, there’s some good ones here that do more than make waffles. It also makes paninis. What are paninis?”

Steve shrugs. “Don’t know.”

More typing takes place. “They’re hot sandwiches. You make the sandwich and stick it into the device and it bakes it.”

Bucky turns the computer and Steve stares at a picture. The panini looks extremely appetizing.

“Oh, that looks good. We’re making those.”

Bucky hums in agreement and goes back to searching for machine options.

“Okay, I found one that’s good. They have it in the Walmart store that’s close to us. We can take a bus and get it tomorrow.”

Steve nods, only half paying attention. He’s watching dozens of bottles of hot sauce moving along a conveyor belt, being jostled together before a machine lifts a specific number into a waiting box. It’s hypnotic.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“What are you drawing?”

He forces himself to look away from the bottles and focus on the conversation. “It’s that black dog we saw today on our ride.”

Bucky leans over and looks at the sketch. “That’s the one which ran with us for a while. The owner was pretty mad.”

Steve smiles. “It’s a good thing we didn’t run over it.”

Bucky leans back, but he’s put the laptop on the coffee table and is staring at the floor. He looks like he wants to say something. Bucky feeling nervous about saying or asking something is getting more infrequent these days, so Steve knows this is probably something important.

“You okay, Buck? What is it?”

Bucky reaches over and pauses the show, freezing the bottles on the conveyor belt.

“Do you remember what my family looks like?”

“Your parents and your siblings? Sure I do.” He’s careful not to ask if Bucky remembers them.

Bucky is silent for a moment. His metal arm had been resting on the couch but now it’s in his lap. It’s an involuntary defense mechanism he hasn’t shown in a while.

“Can you draw them for me?”

Steve nods immediately. “Sure. When do you want me to draw them?”

“Can you draw my ma?”

“Of course. Do you want me to do it now?”

Bucky shakes his head. “You can finish the dog first, if you want.”

Steve’s already flipping to a new page. “The dog’s not important.” He takes a moment to sharpen his pencil and then starts doing the rough outline of Mrs. Barnes’ face.

He’s sketched pretty much everybody in their old neighbourhood when they were growing up so many times that he can draw any of them with his eyes closed, especially members of the Rogers and Barnes families. He has a finished drawing of the entire Barnes family in one of his sketchbooks, but he doesn’t want to risk overwhelming Bucky.

As he continues drawing, he feels Bucky sliding closer to him until their thighs are pressed together and Bucky is intently watching him draw.

“She had brown hair, like me, right?”

“That’s right. You have her nose too. Your eyes you got from your dad.”

They’re silent while Steve continues drawing. As more and more of Mrs. Barnes appears on the page, Bucky leans closer.

When he’s finished Steve carefully tears the page from the book and holds it out to Bucky. “There you go, Buck.”

Bucky takes it and stares at it, his eyes huge. “I—I don’t remember her. Not really. When you were drawing, I saw her face starting to show and I remembered her hair color.”

They stare at the picture. Steve had drawn her laughing, the way he remembers her best.

“She was always laughing. She had a real crude sense of humour for a lady in that day. That’s where you got yours from. Your dad was always saying he shouldn’t let either of you out of the house unless your mouths were sewn shut.”

Bucky looks incredibly sad. “I don’t remember her. Just her hair color. I don’t remember anything else.”

Steve swallows a lump in his throat. He can’t imagine not being able to remember his own family. He takes a deep breath to steady himself and then lays a gentle hand on Bucky’s thigh.

“You might still remember, Buck. But even if you don’t, you can ask me anything you want and I’ll tell you everything I remember. Every tiny detail about anything that you don’t remember.”

Bucky nods and briefly closes his eyes.

“Thanks, Stevie.”

“Of course. Any time you want me to draw you something or tell you something, you let me know.”

They’re silent for a moment. Steve notices he still has his hand on Bucky’s thigh and is gently caressing it with his thumb. He apologizes and starts lifting his hand, but Bucky catches his hand and presses it back down. “No, don’t—it was nice. I don’t mind.”

Steve bites back a happy smile and continues the slow caress.

*             *             *

Steve follows along as Bucky steers them through the crowd, passing through the Walmart sliding glass doors, Steve’s left hand firmly grasped by Bucky’s right hand.

They scan the large signs hanging from the ceiling and have a small debate over where the waffle maker machine might be located, before they come up with some possibilities and start heading that way.

They find the waffle maker in no time, Bucky’s research having paid off.

As they’re heading towards the cashier, the box under Steve’s right arm, they pass the overflowing cart of a woman herding two children along with the cart. The cart is filled with clothes.

“Hey, Buck. Hold on a second.”

Bucky stops and glances back at him. Steve knows he doesn’t like spending too much time in stores like these. They’re always crowded and incredibly overstimulating. As long as he has a clear directive with a clear goal, he can get in, accomplish the task and get out, but he doesn’t like wandering around aimlessly.

“What do you think about getting some clothes of your own?”

Bucky blinks. For a second, Steve is afraid he won’t answer. They hadn’t had one of those instances in over two weeks.

“Did I do something wrong with your clothes?”

“What? No! No, no. I’m happy if you want to keep sharing, if that’s what you want. What’s mine is yours, you know that.” It’s how they’ve lived since they ran into each other on the playground outside their school when Steve was six years old, Bucky seven.

“But I think it would be good for you to have your own clothes. You like having your backpack and your hat, right? I think you’d like having your own clothes.”

Bucky frowns. “They won’t fit in the backpack.”

“No, but they’ll fit in the dresser and the closet in the spare room. Lots of room. You’ve been spending more time in there lately, it makes sense to keep your clothes in there.”

Bucky thinks this over for a moment before he nods cautiously. He looks up at the ceiling signs and points down an aisle.

“Men’s clothing is down there.” Now that he’s signed on for this new mission, Bucky is on board with the idea and he heads off towards the clothing section.

When they get there, Bucky immediately starts examining the price tags on various items. He doesn’t seem to be examining what the clothing item is, only the price of it. He grabs items at random, examines the tags on each item and then drops them. Some land on the floor, others end up in crumpled piles.

“Buck, somebody took the time to nicely fold all of these things. If you’re looking at them and don’t want them, let’s be courteous and put them back the way you found them, okay? Please?”

Bucky stares at him for a moment before staring down at a shirt he’s dropped on the floor.

“Sorry. I’m a bit—” He makes a face.

Steve puts a hand on his right shoulder and squeezes gently. “It’s okay. If you don’t want to do this today, we don’t have to. We can leave any time you want.”

Bucky bends down to pick up the shirt. He struggles to fold it the same way the others are folded—doing it one handed isn’t easy—and he gently places it on top of the others, smoothing it out. He fiddles with the price tag for a moment before releasing it. “How much money can I spend?”

“As much as you want.”

Bucky sighs, sounding frustrated. “I don’t like that. Give me a number.”

“Okay, fine. Three hundred dollars.”

Bucky’s eyes widen and he’s staring at Steve like he’s grown an extra head. “Are you crazy?”

“You asked for a limit, I’m giving you one. If you don’t want that limit, I can always increase it to four hundred.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow and he gives Steve a long look as if waiting for him to change his mind.

Steve laughs. “I mean it. Three hundred dollars. You’ve always taken care of your clothes, the things you buy will last you years.”

Bucky is still staring at him. “I’m not spending the full three hundred dollars.”

“That’s your right.”

Then Bucky turns back to the shirts he had been looking at. “I’m—Stevie, I don’t know how to proceed.”

Steve thinks for a moment. “Well, why don’t we start from the inside out? Let’s find some underwear and socks, then pants, shirts and so on.”

Bucky nods, eyes already scanning the area for the underwear section. Finding it, he steers them around the various displays and shelves until they’re facing racks of different coloured underwear.

Using Steve’s idea, Bucky makes rapid work out of choosing new clothes. He tends to gravitate towards darker clothes, a habit he had picked up during the war—and probably honed during his years as the Soldier. At some point, Steve manages to snag an empty shopping cart and they start piling Bucky’s findings in there.

As they shop, Steve is amused by Bucky constantly checking the tags on the items and keeping a careful mental tally of how much money he had left to spend.

Steve isn’t surprised when he gravitates towards the long-sleeved shirts and sweaters more than short-sleeved shirts. Steve has noticed he always chooses to wear long-sleeved shirts or sweaters. He thinks it’s probably connected to Bucky’s dislike of his metal arm but it’s something that they hadn’t ever discussed.

Bucky insists he doesn’t need new shoes yet. The boots he wears are actually the Soldier’s boots but they are high quality combat boots and will probably last him several more years.

At one point, Bucky is riffling through a rack of discount sweaters. “Oh, Jesus, Stevie, look what I found!” He pulls out a navy blue sweater with picture of Steve’s shield on the front.

Steve huffs, feeling himself blush. “Oh, my God, put it away, Buck!”

“No way! You’re gonna have to pry it out of my hands if you don’t want me to have it.”

Steve sighs loudly and throws up his hands, pretending to be exasperated. “Fine. Get the sweater. I don’t understand why you need a picture of the shield on your clothes—you can just sit with the real thing on your chest when you’re on the couch.”

Bucky shakes his head, happily staring at the sweater in his hands. “This is better. I’ve always been a fan of Captain America.”

“Got your Captain America club membership, huh?”

Bucky shoots him a look. “I’m one of the original founders of the Captain America club, Rogers. In fact,” he pauses dramatically. “I’m one of the original founders of the Steve Rogers club.”

Steve’s blush gets worse. “Jeez, Buck. Stop it.”

Bucky grins at him. “You’re not allowed to tell me when I can or can’t appreciate you, Rogers.” He carefully puts the sweater into their cart and then starts heading down the aisle. “Come on, I want some fuzzy pants.”

After they find some sweatpants, Bucky’s eyes catch on some outrageously huge fuzzy slippers. There are a wide assortment of colors and shapes, all of them designed to practically swallow somebody’s feet.

Bucky holds up a pair of green Hulk slippers, complete with enormous toes. He’s grinning and waving them at Steve, who’s desperately trying not to laugh too loud.

“Look! These are great. Oh, we need some of these.”

He goes ahead and puts two pairs into their cart, one pair for himself and one for Steve. Steve makes a mental note to take a photo of them wearing the slippers and send the picture to Bruce. First he’ll have to get Bucky to teach him how to take a picture with his phone.

When Bucky decides he’s finished, he proudly informs Steve that his total is less than three hundred dollars.

Steve is unsurprised at the check-out when Bucky’s proven right.

*             *             *

“I think we should check it.”

Bucky reaches over and snags the corner of Steve’s shirt and pulls him back as he’s reaching for the panini grill again. “Leave it alone. It can’t bake properly if you keep opening it.”

“It’s been in there forever!”

“3 minutes. It’s been in there for 3 minutes.”

They’re both leaning against the kitchen counter, watching the panini maker baking a sandwich. Bucky’s wearing his Captain America sweater, sweatpants and the Hulk slippers. His hair is pulled back in a low ponytail with a bright yellow sparkly hair tie that Steve had bought in a multipack for him.

“30 more seconds and I’m peeking.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but keeps a hold of Steve’s shirt. Steve glances down at his hand. “What, you don’t trust me?”

Bucky ignores him, eyes on the panini maker.

When the 30 seconds are up, Bucky and Steve step up to the machine and Steve gently lifts the lid, both of them peering down at the sandwich.

“I think it’s done.”

“You’re the chef.”

Steve grabs the spatula and carefully removes the sandwich and slides it onto a plate. Bucky cuts it in half and they head to the table.

They’ve both barely swallowed their first bites when their eyes meet and they wordlessly get up to put more sandwiches in.

“I’m really starting to like this century,” Steve mumbles, his mouth full as he puts the lid back down on their second sandwich.

Later that evening they’re on the couch, watching a food cooking competition featuring contestants getting to sabotage each other. One of the contestants has to cook using a set of mini cooking implements.

“I should buy a set of those for you. That’d be hilarious.”

“You’d starve to death,” Steve points out.

Bucky makes a face. “True.”

A ding sounds behind them and Bucky gets up to switch their laundry from the washing machine to the dryer. When he’s back on the couch, he pokes Steve in the side.

“What?”

“Tell me something about the apartment with the orange wallpaper.”

Steve mutes the television and leans back, thinking. “We had a couch, like this one. Only that one was in much rougher shape. It was a horrible green color and had stains and holes in it. The stuffing would always be coming out so you’d sew patches of different fabrics on it that I found in the trash of the fabric making place down the road. You loved sitting on the right side of it and you’d always have your boots up on it until I yelled at you.”

Bucky suddenly straightens, eyes far away. “You’d yell and I’d take my boots off and drop them on the floor.”

“You’d make a big production out of it. Whining about how tired you were. Then I’d yell some more and you’d get up and put them by the door.”

“You were cooking. You’d threaten me with a spoon.”

Steve laughs. “I wouldn’t have needed to threaten you if you had remembered to take your boots off by the door, Barnes.”

“Can you draw it? Me on the couch and you cooking?”

Steve reaches for his sketchpad and pencil and flips to a clean page. As he sketches the rough outline, Bucky turns the volume back on and slides closer to Steve.

As Steve sketches, he’s surprised to feel Bucky leaning into him, his chin propped on Steve’s shoulder, eyes on the sketchpad.

“You wanna have your boots on or off in the picture?”

“On. Let’s aim for authenticity.”

Steve smiles. He slightly changes the sketch and instead of drawing himself cooking, he draws himself leaning over the back of the couch, spoon in one hand and an amused but exasperated smile on his face as he looks down at Bucky, who’s sprawled on the couch, boots on his feet and eyes closed.

For a moment, he’s afraid that Bucky might recognize the love shining in his eyes that he had poured into the Steve in the drawing. Then realizes how silly that is.

Bucky has never had any reason to suspect Steve’s affections for him were anything but platonic, and his returning memories would continue supporting that.

*             *             *

Frowning, he continues scrolling downwards, searching for the pasta recipe he had made last night. He shifts slightly on the bed, adjusting the computer in his lap so he can see despite the glare from the window. Bucky has shown him how to adjust the brightness on the stupid thing, but his earlier attempts had only increased the volume, so he’s abandoned that mission. He’ll ask Bucky later. Right now, he doesn’t want to do anything to disturb Bucky, who’s dozing beside him.

Finally finding the right recipe, he carefully clicks on it. He clicks on the little heart button, saving it. He realizes he forgot to sign in to his account a moment later when the page prompts him to sign in. He carefully types in his login information and then continues saving the recipe to his favourites.

This site has rapidly become his go-to for finding new recipes to try and Bucky had finally helped him create an account so he can save recipes. About a week ago, he’d become brave enough to start posting reviews of the ones he’s tried making.

He clicks on ‘Rate It’, and begins writing his review of it. He decides to give it 3 out of 5 stars.

He starts out by praising the recipe creator for the simplicity of the meal, but then points out that some additional ingredients and steps could have been added to make it more interesting. He had browned the onions while browning the ground meat, allowing the flavour of the onion to mix with the ground beef. He’d also added some garlic powder and Italian seasoning.

 _“But overall, the recipe was very good. My—”_ he pauses, trying to decide what to call Bucky. Roommate? Best friend? Teammate? Bucky’s held a lot of titles throughout their lives together. Steve smiles softly and glances down at the man in question. Steve’s pleasantly surprised to see him actually sleeping.

Bucky’s curled up on his side, facing Steve. He’s drifted closer while Steve was typing and his nose is nearly pressed to Steve’s hip.

Steve could easily lean down and kiss him. He knows exactly where he’d kiss him—first his temple, then his cheek. Then the Bucky in his fantasy would start waking up and tilt his face up so Steve could reach his lips.

Steve rolls his eyes at himself. That particular fantasy was an old one. He’d often sit on their bed in Brooklyn, reading a book while Bucky slept, soaking up Bucky’s warmth while he slept following a long shift at the docks. He’d pause in his reading from time to time to look down at Bucky and imagine kissing him.

He shakes his head, smiling wryly. Apparently some fantasies really do withstand the test of time.

Steve smiles down at Bucky and then refocuses on finishing his review. _“My best friend ate over half of it in one sitting and is looking forward to having it again.”_

He submits the review and then signs out of his account. He clicks on the little square at the top of the page—a bookmark Bucky calls it—and goes to his second favourite site. It’s a cooking forum where people post discussions and questions.

He signs in and scrolls through today’s discussions. He sees a question about how to successfully remove a cheesecake from its baking dish without destroying the bottom crust. He and Bucky had made a cheesecake a few days ago, but they had liked it so much that they had eaten it directly out of the pan, not bothering to remove it.

He’s looking through the responses, making a note of the suggestions for future cheesecake adventures, when he hears Bucky whimper softly.

His fingers freeze on the keys and he glances down. Bucky has a frown on his face and his jaw is clenched. He whimpers again, tension clear in his body.

“Buck, it’s okay. We’re okay. You’re in our apartment, you’re safe. It’s just a bad dream,” he says softly. He keeps his hands still on the keyboard not wanting to make any sudden movements that would startle Bucky out of sleep.

“We’re okay, buddy. We’re safe in our apartment. Everything’s okay.”

Bucky’s body suddenly goes tense and he blinks his eyes open. He’s shaking and looks panicked for a moment before he looks up and sees Steve looking down at him.

“It’s okay, Buck. Just a bad dream. Everything’s okay.”

Bucky glances around for a moment, slowly calming. When he’s stopped trembling and his face has smoothed out, he slides over and lays his head on Steve’s thigh, looking up at the screen.

“Whatcha doing?” he asks sleepily.

“I’m on the discussion site. I learned how to get cheesecake out of the pan properly.”

“Oh. Maybe we should try that next time instead of eating it straight outta the pan, huh?”

Steve chuckles quietly and gently brushes Bucky’s hair behind his ear. He moves his hand along, carefully avoiding Bucky’s metal arm and settling on his left side, softly caressing just above his hip.

Bucky lets out a quiet, pleased sound and closes his eyes.

Steve loves moments like these. He’s thrilled that Bucky is becoming more comfortable with physical contact again. Mainly he’s happy for Bucky’s sake, but a large part of him is overjoyed that he gets to have Bucky close to him again. He doesn’t dare delude himself into thinking he’ll ever get to have more with Bucky than a close friendship, but that was sufficient 70 years ago and it’ll be sufficient now. Even if Bucky never touches him again, Steve would settle for just being near him, but having Bucky touching him and allowing Steve to touch him were amazing bonuses that make his heart swell with that same fierce love that had burnt since he was thirteen years old.

When Steve is sure that Bucky is making another attempt at sleeping, he refocuses on the computer. He’s still not comfortable enough with the machine to try messing around on the internet one-handed—and there’s no way he’s moving his left hand from where it is unless Bucky doesn’t want it there—so he closes the internet and opens the paint program.

It’s very simplistic but oddly soothing. Steve doesn’t even have to pay attention to what he’s doing. He can just click on a color and swirl his finger along the touchpad and watch colors appearing on the screen. It’s perfectly doable one handed and he doesn’t have to save his work so there’s nothing to be embarrassed over later.

Bucky sleeps for another two hours without being interrupted by any more bad dreams.

*             *             *

Steve’s in the middle of cooking when there’s a knock on the door. Bucky’s just come out of the bathroom, combing his wet hair and stuffing his feet into his Hulk slippers.

He’s about to pull the pot off the heat and head to the door when Bucky waves a hand towards him.

“I’ll get it. You keep doing what you’re doing.”

Steve pauses in surprise. They never get visitors so Steve wasn’t expecting Bucky to volunteer for opening the door himself.

He barely manages to pay attention to the pot of soup on the stove as he cranes his neck, trying to see the front door. At one point, he takes a wrong step and nearly trips over his own feet, encased in his own Hulk slippers. Straightening up, he abandons the stove and watches the door.

Bucky opens the door a crack, keeping one foot behind the door so he can slam it shut if need be.

He has a quiet conversation with somebody before opening the door wider to accept a brown package. Then he shuts the door and brings the package to the kitchen.

“We got a present.”

Steve smiles. “Probably from Sam. Wanna open it?”

Bucky tears into the packaging—one of the rare times he voluntarily uses his left hand instead of his right—and gently pulls out the contents.

They’re picture frames, about a dozen of them, all different sizes. There’s also a small package of hooks and nails.

There’s a small note tucked in amongst the picture frames. Bucky picks it up. _“Pieces of art deserve to be displayed properly. Don’t forget to sign everything so I can get lots of money for them when you’re dead. Your speedy buddy, Sam.”_

Bucky snorts and sifts through the picture frames.

“He’s hilarious,” Steve says, rolling his eyes.

“He’s not wrong. I like the picture frame idea.” He wanders off in the direction of his room and comes back a moment later with a pile of pictures that Steve had drawn for him. He starts sorting through the picture frames, trying to see which ones would fit best. “I’ll take half and you take the other half.”

“It’s okay, Buck. You can take them.”

“Don’t be dumb. I can hang up my favourites and you hang up your favourites.”

“Fine. Can you grab the second to last sketchpad in the pile? It’s on the shelf.”

Bucky goes to retrieve it.

“There’s a picture of you in there. You’re wearing your Sergeant uniform. I want to hang that one up.”

Steve keeps half an eye on Bucky as he leafs through the book. He finds the picture with no difficulty and carefully tears it out. He pauses and stares down at it.

“You forgot to draw my hat,” he says.

“I forgot it on purpose. Your hair was looking spectacular that day, so I wanted to show that.”

Bucky’s hand goes up to his head and mimes pulling the cap on his head. Steve smiles.

Then the hiss of overflowing water forces his attention back to the stove, where his soup is bubbling up over the rim of the pot.

Swearing, he lowers the temperature and pulls the pot away, telling himself sternly to focus.

Bucky comes wandering over to the stove after a while. He’s frowning slightly and tugging on his hair.

“Did you like it better short?”

Steve looks at him and smiles, reaching up and tucking strands of it behind his ear, letting his hand linger for a moment before dropping back down. “You’re a handsome fella no matter how long your hair is.”

Bucky grins. “Is that right?”

“That’s right.”

Steve turns back to the stove and Bucky leans against his back, wrapping his right arm around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder, staring down into the pot of soup. Steve heart skips a beat.

“Am I the most handsome 98 year old you’ve ever seen?”

“You sure are, Buck. In general, I’ve always thought you were the most handsome fella around, no matter how old we are. And I’m never wrong, so.”

Bucky huffs a quiet laugh into his ear. “Who am I to argue with Steve Rogers?”

“It would be a silly waste of your time, that’s for sure.”

*             *             *

The moment Steve opens his eyes, he knows it’s not one of his good days. He feels exhausted despite having slept the entire night.

He throws the covers off himself and starts pulling out clean clothes to wear. Of course, he gets himself tangled in the shirt he’s trying to pull on. He’s starting to get incredibly irritated.

He roughly yanks the shirt into place, cursing at it.

Usually he can distract himself by focusing on Bucky, but Bucky is getting more and more independent each day, forcing Steve to stay stuck in his own head on his bad days. He hates himself for feeling annoyed at Bucky for that.

Then he remembers that Bucky’s inevitable departure is creeping closer each day and that pretty soon, Steve will be back to being stuck in his own head all day, every day. Again, it’s easier to feel angry at Bucky over that rather than giving in to the urge to cry over it.

He gets himself dressed and then heads for the bathroom. He can hear the water running in the sink and when he pushes the door open, he sees Bucky standing at the sink, brushing his teeth.

“Morning, Buck,” he mutters.

Bucky mumbles something at him, his mouth full of foam and the toothbrush.

Steve notices Bucky had left the cap off his toothpaste. He grits his teeth, annoyed. Grabbing the tube, he screws the lid on it and drops it back on the sink.

Bucky leans over to spit into the sink. “I was gonna put the lid back on when I was done.”

Steve stares at him in the mirror, reaching for his own toothbrush. “And until then, toothpaste can leak all over the sink, that’s okay, right?”

Bucky stares at him for another moment before he rinses his mouth and leaves the bathroom and Steve’s mood behind.

Steve doesn’t care. He’s just glad he has the bathroom to himself for a few minutes.

He decides he’s having cereal for breakfast. Bucky follows suit and fills his bowl with cereal once Steve’s done. When Bucky’s done, he closes up the box and goes to put it back on the shelf.

“I wasn’t done using that, but thanks.” His voice is dripping sarcasm.

Bucky pauses, his hand about to release the box on the shelf. He closes his hand on it again and pulls it back down and brings it back to the table.

The anger simmers hotter. “I’m not a child, Buck, I can get up and get the box myself if I want to.”

Bucky pauses, the box in his hands. Turning, he goes back to the shelf and puts it back.

They eat breakfast in silence.

Once they’re done Steve sits on the couch for a while. The TV’s on but he has absolutely no interest in choosing something to watch. None of the dozens of shows on the recorder interest him.

Time goes by. He’s aware of Bucky moving around the apartment, staying away from the couch and Steve. He stares at the television, feeling angry and like he’s about to jump out of his skin.

Slowly, the irritation starts to fade. Steve knows what’s coming. When the anger is gone, all that’s left is a feeling of being submerged in sadness. It feels like drowning in black sludge. It seeps into every pore and makes his limbs feel heavier than they are.

He sits on the couch, doing and thinking about nothing.

He knows he should get up and do something. Going outside sometimes makes him feel a bit better, but he has absolutely no desire to get up from the couch.

Not that life on the couch is interesting at the moment, but he just doesn’t want to get up.

He doesn’t want to do anything.

“I’m going out.” He hears Bucky call over from the door.

He doesn’t turn to look. He doesn’t care.

The door clicks shut.

Steve stays on the couch, watching images flash by on the television. He pulls his knees up to his chest and leans back against the cushions.

He glances at the sketchpad on the coffee table but he can’t think of anything he wants to draw.

The hours go by. Steve does nothing but sit. The black sludge is drowning him, even as he sits there, breathing normally.

Maybe Bucky won’t come back. Maybe he’s realized that being around Steve is a waste of time and he’s decided to leave early.

He doesn’t allow himself to start crying. Instead, he clings to the anger, cursing at Bucky for leaving.

He feels exhausted. Being angry is extremely tiring. He decides going to bed would be the right thing to do.

He heads back to bed, taking the time to change into his sleep clothes before burrowing himself under the covers.

He dozes on and off for hours. When he opens his eyes at one point he realizes it’s dark outside.

And Bucky’s sitting in the corner of the room.

Steve thinks about how horrible he had been to Bucky that morning and immediately feels immensely guilty, but also relieved that he came back. Then he feels guilty over feeling relieved. He doesn’t deserve to have Bucky here with him if he’s going to treat him so terribly.

That, combined with the sadness that still clings to his skin immediately brings a lump to his throat and he feels tears starting to stream down his face.

He rarely cried when he was a child. Even during the war when horrible things were happening all the time, he rarely cried.

And when he did cry, he can’t remember it ever being like this. When he has these bad days, absolutely anything can set him off and leave him dissolving into tears.

He’s sobbing now, burying his face in his pillow. He can’t believe he has such little control over himself these days. He’s starting to get angry again. At least this time he knows it’s because he’s mad at himself. Who the hell sobs after waking up from a nap?

He gradually feels a gentle hand stroking his hair. He turns his face towards the wall so he doesn’t have to face Bucky.

“I’m sorry for this morning, Buck,” he manages to choke out between sobs.

“I know. It’s okay. I know you weren’t mad at me.”

“I was in a snit but I shouldn’t have been so nasty to you.”

“No, but that’s okay. It’s better than you hurting yourself.”

There have been some days when he could only release the anger by punching a wall or slamming his fists onto some hard surface. The damage to his hands would heal within a few hours, and the pain would make the anger fade for a while.

Bucky doesn’t like it when he does that.

“I’m sorry I made you leave.”

“You didn’t make me leave, you just needed some space and I decided to give it to you.”

Bucky’s still stroking his hair as tears continue streaming down his face.

“I don’t know why I’m like this, Buck. I wasn’t ever like this before.”

“Sam says it’s depression. It’s not your fault. Your head’s a bit sick and even the serum can’t help make it better faster.”

Steve frowns. “Have you been talking to Sam?”

“Remember when you couldn’t find that other red sock in the dryer and you put your fist through the wall? And then you stayed in your room for the rest of the day? I got really scared. I called Sam with your phone. I figured he’d know if something had happened to you that I didn’t know about. He told me about depression. He’s a very nice man. Didn’t ask any stupid questions, just told me what I needed to know.”

“Sam’s a good egg.”

“Yes, he is. And so are you.”

They’re silent for a while longer until the tears stop and Steve feels brave enough to turn around and face Bucky.

Bucky wipes the rest of the tears off his cheeks and hands him a tissue to blow his nose.

“I bought cupcakes from that bakery down the street. I took all of their chocolate fudge ones.”

Steve is absolutely, head over heels in love with him. And Jesus, will Steve miss him when he goes. He’s only too familiar with how missing Bucky feels, but it never gets better or easier.

Steve manages a small smile. “Can we eat them in bed?”

Bucky nods and leaves the room. He’s back a few minutes later, carrying a plate of cupcakes. He kicks off his Hulk slippers and slides into the bed beside Steve.

Steve immediately snuggles up against his right side, his head on Bucky’s shoulder as he reaches for a cupcake.

He bites into the piece of chocolate goodness and feels the first spark of joy that he’s felt all day.

“These are heaven.”

Bucky hums in agreement, taking a bite out of his own. While they eat, he shifts around and pulls a small device out of his pocket.

“I went and bought a phone today from Walmart.”

Steve frowns at it. It’s a lot smaller than the phone he has. And thicker. “It’s different than the one I have.”

“This is a flip phone. It doesn’t do the fancy stuff your phone does. It only does phone calls and takes terrible pictures. I didn’t have to do any paper stuff. I just go into the store and pay to add more minutes to it.”

Steve takes it from him and flips it open. “Looks like one of those things on Star Trek that they talk into.”

Bucky laughs. “That’s exactly what I thought when I saw it! This one had really good reviews on the website.”

He takes the phone from Steve and presses a few buttons on it. “I texted you this phone number so you can add it to your phone. But don’t go crazy with texting or calling me. It uses minutes every time.”

Steve nods dutifully, not wanting to get into another argument over money. He watches Bucky flipping the phone open and closed. The way they’re lying on the bed, snuggled together reminds him of their apartment in Brooklyn.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve says, reaching for another cupcake. He hopes Bucky knows he’s thanking him for much more than the text or even the cupcakes.

Bucky smiles and kisses the top of his head. “You’re welcome, punk.”


	8. Chapter 8

He narrows his eyes at the comments on the website. “What kind of people make fun of a 10 year old child who slightly undercooked a piece of salmon? Buck, I need to make a twitter account.”

Bucky is finishing drying the last few dishes from dinner and is putting the plates into the cupboard.

“So, make one.”

“Come help me, jerk.”

Bucky hangs up the dishtowel and then leans over the back of the couch, looking at the laptop in Steve’s lap. The credits of the latest episode of the children’s cooking competition are scrolling past on the television.

Steve has been following along with other people who have been tweeting about the show while it was going on. Until now, he’s been satisfied with being a spectator on the twitter website, but the number of people being cruel to the eliminated contestant for her salmon was the limit. Steve needs to make an account so he could come to the kid’s defense.

Bucky talks him through making an account and choosing an appropriate username for himself. Bucky eagerly starts offering up suggestions. “Make it Captain America.”

“No. Besides, that one’s taken.”

“Captain Cook?”

“That’s taken too.”

Bucky makes a face. “Howlies?”

“Taken.”

“Seriously?”

Steve grins. “That’s actually not taken but it’s a dumb name.”

Bucky huffs a laugh. “I didn’t mean that as a name. Okay, we have to get creative. How about Captain Howlie?”

“That one’s a winner! Oh, I like that. Thanks, Buck.”

He finishes making his account and then immediately makes his first tweet defending the young contestant’s salmon. _‘Diana can make better salmon than most adults. She did a great job!’_

“Don’t forget to add the hashtag.”

“The what?”

Bucky leans further over the couch and points at the hashtag in the other tweets. “That way people who are tracking that tag can see your tweet.”

Steve stares up at him. “How do you know all these things?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I pay attention. You should try it one day.”

“Whatever. What am I adding here?”

Bucky leans over and types something into the little box at the end of his comment. Then he submits the tweet and it disappears from the screen.

“Done. Now, shove over.”

While Steve moves himself over, Bucky climbs over the back of the couch and makes himself comfortable, reaching for the remote to flick through the recordings they have stored.

He settles on one of the factory episodes and has it start playing. Steve spends a bit more time on twitter, figuring out how to follow certain accounts that he’d been looking at. Satisfied with his progress for the day, he shuts down the laptop and puts it on the table.

He stretches out and Bucky immediately leans into his side, his head on his shoulder.

They watch as a factory worker pours enormous bags of sugar into a huge rotating mixer, in preparation for making some type of candy.

At one point, Steve notices that Bucky’s staring at him instead of the television.

“Do I have something on my face?”

Bucky gives him a soft smile. “Nothing that needs wiping off.”

“You’re getting schmaltzy in your old age, Barnes.”

Bucky keeps smiling. “I finally remembered.”

The worker’s now pouring in buckets of green food coloring to turn the candy mixture green. “Remembered what?”

“I can’t believe you didn’t even give me a hint.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Hint about what? What’d you remember?”

Bucky pushes himself up and reaches his right hand up to Steve’s face. He turns Steve’s chin and before Steve’s even aware it’s happening, Bucky’s leaning forward and brushing a soft kiss over Steve’s mouth, their lips barely even touching.

Steve freezes, his mind blank.

Bucky huffs an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry. That was terrible. Let me try again.” He twists himself so he’s facing Steve more fully and leans in again. Steve is still too stunned to move. This time, the kiss is firmer and Bucky’s lips linger for longer before releasing. Bucky’s lips are dry and he smells like the chicken from dinner.

Then Steve blinks and realizes he needs to say something. Bucky’s smiling at him, his eyes shining.

“Buck, whatcha doing?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t sound as shocked as he feels.

“I’m kissing you, idiot. Yes, I know, the first one shouldn’t even count as a kiss, but the second one was a bit better, right? It’s been a very long time since I’ve kissed anybody so I’m allowed to be a bit rusty.”

“I—I know _what_ it was, but why?”

Bucky is still smiling. “I remembered, Stevie. I can’t believe you didn’t even give me a hint. All this time we’ve been practically squished together head to toe all day, every day and you never even gave me a hint. I should be mad at you, Rogers, but if there’s lots of kissing in my future, I might just forgive you.” Then he grins and leans in, coming in for what Steve assumes is another kiss.

And in that split second, Steve has to make a choice.

Obviously Bucky thinks he’s remembering something that never happened. Whatever Bucky thinks the two of them did back in the day only ever happened in one place, and that was in Steve’s fantasies.

If Steve is going to be a jerk, he could grab on to this unexpected chance to have something he’s been dreaming about since he was thirteen years old. He is so utterly tempted by it that he feels disgusted with himself.

There’s absolutely no way he can take advantage of Bucky’s fragmented memories just to take something that Bucky only _thinks_ he should be offering.

The fact that he’s been in love with his best friend for most of his life has always been his problem and his problem alone, and needs to continue being so. There’s no way he can drag Bucky into it.

He slightly leans back, out of Bucky’s range and gently tugs off the hand that’s holding his chin.

“Buck, stop for a second. Please.”

Bucky’s smile slowly falters and becomes a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“What exactly did you remember?”

The frown becomes a sly grin. “Oh, lots of stuff. Lots of kissing. Not a lot of clothes. And we were having a great time doing it.”

Steve nearly chokes on his tongue. He forces himself to remain calm. “Buck, when it was winter in Brooklyn, we’d often sleep squished together with barely anything on. I barely generated any body heat of my own and you were like a furnace so it was easiest to keep me warm if we didn’t have a lot of layers on. I think that’s probably—”

Bucky does one of his quiet laughs. “Stevie, trust me, we were doing a lot more than just cuddling for warmth. Last time I checked, the amount of kissing that was going on wasn’t required for keeping somebody warm. And especially when I kissed you in….other areas. Not just on the lips.”

Lord have mercy on him.

For a second, Steve’s traitorous mind flashes an image of it before his eyes—both of them naked, sweaty limbs entangled, Bucky kissing his way down Steve’s chest as Steve’s hands clutch Bucky’s hair, his back arching in pleasure.

Then he ruthlessly pushes it out of his mind. Whatever Bucky’s remembering, he can’t possibly have seen into Steve’s mind and claimed one of his fantasies as his own, so he must be misinterpreting the memory.

With a sickening lurch, Steve realizes what must have happened.

“Buck, I’m sorry, but you and I never did that sort of stuff. I think you’re remembering somebody—”

Bucky’s sly grin evaporates. “You calling me a liar?”

“No! No…I think—I think you’re remembering doing _that_ with somebody…but because we’ve always spent a lot of time together, your brain is combining different memories; putting my face into the memory when it was really somebody else.”

It’s almost physically painful for him to say it. He feels a lump squeezing in his throat and knows he’s ridiculously close to crying. He had always known that Bucky had sex with other people, he’d just never known he’d been going around being intimate with other men.

It’s none of his business if he had, but a small, bitterly jealous part of him wants to demand why Bucky hadn’t ever given _him_ a chance. He knew he hadn’t been the greatest catch back then, but Bucky seemed to like him anyway.

He blinks back the tears, cursing his ridiculous crying reflex that’s set on a hair trigger these days. He isn’t a child and he has never had any exclusive rights to Bucky’s affections. If Bucky had given those affections to men other than Steve, he’ll just have to accept that.

Bucky still looks mad. “Rogers, I know my memory isn’t the most reliable, but when a memory is that clear, I know it’s real. And no, I didn’t imagine your face in place of some other random man’s face. It’s your body. Not—not this body—” he waves a hand at Steve. “But the other one. When you were small. I saw that body more than I saw my own and I’d know it anywhere. And that’s the body I’m—doing stuff with in the memories.”

Steve is staring at him. “Memories? More than one?”

Bucky huffs. “Yes, more than one. Jesus. When people have as good of a time as we did doing it, they tend to do it more than once.”

The irony of this entire situation is ridiculous.

“Buck, listen to me. Please. I swear to you, I swear on my ma’s grave and on your ma’s grave that we never, ever did those things together. We cared about each other, we were as close as brothers and we loved each other as brothers but that was it.”

Bucky is shaking his head. “I—I don’t believe you. It’s so clear in my head.”

Steve sighs softly. “Tell me more about the memory. Not the—the—intimate parts—but the other stuff. What happened before?”

Bucky sighs and leans back against the cushions. “We went to this girl’s house. You were really excited and nervous. Somebody opened the door—maybe her sister?—and then yelled for the girl to come to the door. She shows up and she’s a real good lookin’ broad—curly blond hair, brown eyes, cute dimples—and she sees us and she looks at me and says ‘Steve?’ and I shake my head and shove you forward. You tell her you’re Steve, and I remember I was so excited, I was bouncing on my heels. But then—then—” Bucky stops and glances at Steve, as if he’s worried he’ll upset Steve.

Steve sighs softly. He’d spent many years successfully not remembering this particular event, but for Bucky’s sake, he’ll relive it. “It’s okay, Buck. I remember. Keep going.”

“You sure?”

Steve smiles at his concern. “I’m fine. It was a long time ago. Keep going.”

“So she stares at you and says ‘You’re Steve?’ and you say yes, and then she gets this look on her face like she stepped in dung or something. She takes a step back, still looking disgusted and the other girl starts laughing. And you’re still smiling, you’re being so brave and I’m getting mad and then she says ‘Don’t ever write me again’ and slams the door in our faces—”

“You left out the part where she called me a disgusting freak.”

Bucky frowns and wrinkles his nose. “I left it out on purpose. Malarkey like that don’t need to be remembered.”

“Her name was Betty-Anne. Do you remember how we ended up at her door?”

Bucky shakes his head.

“You’d met her sister and even though she was seeing somebody, she told you about her sister, Betty-Anne, who liked to read and draw and was a real quiet sort of girl and was always having trouble meeting boys. So you told her you had a friend—meaning me—who also didn’t have much luck in that department. You suggested we should try writing to each other before meeting up, so that we’d get comfortable and learn about each other before we had to meet face to face. We thought that would make it go better. We spent three months writing letters back and forth. You’d meet up with her sister and you’d exchange the letters for us once a week. Would have been more often but it took me a week to finish each letter. I must have re-written each one a hundred times. You helped me.” He smiles ruefully. “Apparently I’m a real catch on paper, but not in real life.”

Steve doesn’t add that even today, he isn’t the greatest catch. Or even a good catch. Sure, physically his body has improved since then, but the rest of him has deteriorated. So really, he’s still at square one.

Bucky’s frowning. “She’s a nitwit. Anyway, I didn’t get to the good part of the memory.”

Steve frowns but bites his lip, not wanting to interrupt Bucky. He has no idea how Bucky went from Betty-Anne slamming the door in their faces to them kissing, but he guesses that’s where the confusion comes in.

They had gone home, Steve trying to discreetly brush tears out of his eyes before they became obvious. Bucky had poured him a bit of the rum they kept squirreled away for such occasions and then collapsed on the couch with him. When the tears had overwhelmed him, Bucky had pulled him into his arms and reminded him over and over again that she hadn’t been the right one, that the right one would definitely come along and all Steve had to do was wait. When Steve had managed to stop crying, they’d spent a while insulting Betty-Anne and made plans to burn the letters she had sent Steve.

“After she slammed the door, I was fixing to bang on it and demand she come out and give you another chance, but you wanted to go home, so we left. I was so mad at her and I was real upset because you were crying and trying to be so brave. So we got home and I poured you a drink and we sat on the couch. You cried for a bit and I hugged you and told you it was okay. You didn’t need any foolish girl because you had me and I’d love you better than any of them ever could. And I kissed you all over your face until you were smiling. We took off our clothes and went to bed and we kissed and….well, you didn’t want to know any more of those types of details. But there was a lot more than kissing that went on.”

Steve was frozen again, his mind in utter chaos. He can see exactly where Bucky had diverged from memory into…fantasy? But was it really fantasy? Was it what Bucky had wanted to remember instead of the actual memory, or was Bucky combining memories?

“Okay, Buck, I—I don’t know what to say. Part of that is true, but the kissing part ain’t. We came home, I had a drink, you hugged me and let me cry all over you and you kept saying the right girl would come along for me eventually. Then we insulted Betty-Anne and went to bed.”

He can see Bucky opening his mouth, so he quickly adds: “To _sleep_. That’s it.”

Bucky narrows his eyes at him before grinning fondly and shaking his head. “Nope. You’re lying, Rogers. I don’t know why you’re lying about it, but you’re lying. Listen, if you want to pretend none of that ever happened, we can do that. It’s 70 years later, I understand if you don’t feel the same way anymore. But don’t lie to me.”

“Jesus, I swear to you I’m not lying!”

“I don’t believe you. I can remember it in vivid detail. You’d do that thing with your tongue when we’re kissing that made me gasp and you’d get that wicked smile on your face. I’d kiss every one of your ribs—I wouldn’t lick because you’d always find that ticklish. We’d line up our privates so they’re rubbing against each other and we’d still be kissing because kissing’s fantastic. I’d know exactly how hard to thrust and when to reach down to give you a jerk so you’d—”

“It never happened, Barnes!” Steve yells. He’s been sitting there, feeling like he’s about to explode. He’s so tense that he can barely breathe and he realizes he’s painfully hard—thank goodness he’s wearing loose sweatpants—and Bucky just has to _stop_ talking.

Bucky looks taken aback by Steve’s angry outburst and he abruptly closes his mouth.

“Jesus Christ! Out of the two of us, I think my memories are more reliable than yours and I’ve told you a hundred times already: That. Never. Happened. _Nothing_ like that ever happened. For Christ’s sake, the only place it’s ever happened is in my own head, but that’s it!”

The room sinks into a blessed silence. Steve blindly reaches out for a couch pillow and hugs it to himself, hoping it looks like a defense mechanism and less like he’s just trying to cover up his hard-on.

He’s shaking and having difficulty breathing and for one bizarre moment, he thinks he’s going to have an asthma attack. Then he remembers that’s physically impossible and he’s probably on the verge of bursting into tears instead. Or he’s on the verge of having a panic attack.

Great.

This entire day is turning into a mess. An ironic mess, but a mess.

Once Steve has calmed a bit, he focuses back on Bucky.

“It’s not your fault, Buck. Your mind is still healing and it’s getting some wires crossed in the process. That’s okay. I’m here so I can help you distinguish between what’s real and what’s a crazy concoction that your mind made up. But in order to do that, you have to trust me.”

He likes his little speech. He thinks it does a nice job of wrapping up this entire mess. Bucky will agree and laugh off the incident as a crazy mess his brain made up and they’ll go back to watching television.

Bucky’s staring at the television but it’s obvious he’s not actually watching the show.

Steve has calmed down enough that he can actually focus back on the TV show. He realizes they’ve missed the candy segment and they’ve moved into how tires are made.

Damn. He actually wanted to see the candy segment. He picks up the remote, frowning at the buttons on it. Bucky had shown him how to rewind but he forgot which button it was. He thinks maybe the one with the backwards arrows? He pushes it and is very pleased when the images start moving backwards.

When he gets to the part where the worker is putting the green food coloring into the mixer, he pressed the square stop button. That freezes the image. Now to get it going again…

“Buck which one’s the—”

“You said in your head.”

“What?”

“You said the only place kissing ever happened was in your head.”

“When the hell did I say that?” Steve frowns. There’s no way he would have told Bucky that. No way.

“You said it less than 5 minutes ago. When you were yelling because you wanted me to stop talking about how we used to touch each other’s—”

Steve holds up the remote as if that can stop the words from coming. “You want me to start yelling again?”

“Fine, I won’t go into the intimate details again—you’re such a prude, Rogers—anyway, you’re trying to change the subject.”

“No, I’m not. We were done talking about that subject, and I’m moving on. I’m moving on to re-watching the candy segment, but I forgot how to make the stupid thing move and the mixer is frozen and I’d really like it to start moving again.” He waves the remote in Bucky’s face, desperately hoping Bucky will grant him the change of subject.

Instead, Bucky grabs the remote from him and stuffs it behind his back. “You said the only place the kissing has ever happened is in your head. That means you’ve thought about it—about us doing those things. And whether or not it was real, my own brain came up with that fantasy out of somewhere. I’m pretty damn sure I used to think about the kissing stuff too. In my own head.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Not 100%, but all I know is when I think about those memories, fantasies, whatever, it feels _right_. It feels familiar, like it was something I thought about all the time.”

Steve’s staring at the frozen mixer, the bucket of green food coloring hovering above it.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Buck.”

Bucky frowns. “Say? I don’t want you to say anything. We just figured out that for the last 70 years both of us have been thinking about kissing each other, only we were always too dumb to say anything. I think there should be less talking and more kissing. Like right now.”

Steve closes his eyes. His heart and his head are aching. It’s enough of a distraction that his dick has managed to calm down enough for him to move the pillow. “It’s not that simple. You’re still healing and Sam says you having sex at this stage will probably end up being a huge mistake.”

“Not if I’m doing it with you.”

“ _Especially_ if you’re doing it with me.”

Bucky looks unimpressed. “How?”

“Because, despite the fact that I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen years old, I’m not in any shape to jump into bed with you. As for you, you don’t even know how you feel about me, you just had these random thoughts fall into your head about two minutes ago and suddenly you decide you’ve always wanted to get me into bed. You’ll regret it, and that’ll break my heart. And I’m not in good enough shape to survive having you break my heart.”

He feels tears welling up and he angrily wipes them away, sniffing hard to keep them at bay.

Bucky leans closer and gently wipes some of the tears that Steve’s missed. He leans his forehead against Steve’s.

“I’m sorry, Stevie. I didn’t think. I just got real excited because I think I remember being in love with you. Ever since I saw you on the bridge, I felt something when I looked at you that I didn’t feel for anybody else. I didn’t realize what it was until I remembered these fantasies.”

“You can’t be sure—”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure. But, I’m acknowledging that there’s a small chance that you’re right and my brain—and feelings—could be messing around with me. I could never, ever hurt you, so I agree that we shouldn’t do anything serious until I’m more sure about things. That’ll give you time to figure things out too.”

“What things?”

“Just because you loved Bucky Barnes 70 years ago doesn’t mean you love the Bucky Barnes whose here now.”

Steve snorts. “That’s not a concern, Buck. I’m just as pathetically in love with the 21st century you as I was with the 20th century version.”

Bucky shrugs. “You might still change your mind.”

Steve snorts again, because—really? It’s already been proven that neither separation nor death could dull his feelings for this man, so he’s pretty certain absolutely nothing ever will. But if thinking that helps Bucky put the brakes on this entire thing, then he’ll indulge him. “So what does ‘serious’ mean?”

“It’s up to you, but I’d really like to do a bit of kissing here and there.”

“You gonna be able to keep your hands to yourself?”

“Hey! I’ve always been a gentleman. You on the other hand have been running around unsupervised with nobody to keep you in line. Lord knows what you’ve been up to.”

Steve laughs. “Jesus, what do you think I’ve been doing around here?”

“Not just here—you were alone in Brooklyn when I left for months.”

Steve’s laughter dies in his throat and stares at the frozen mixer again. “When you left, all I did was miss you, worry about you and try to make rent. I didn’t have time for anything else. Didn’t want anything else. After you died, I was in a fog for a few weeks until I went into the ice. Then I woke up here and had to work on remembering to eat enough and not spend all day in bed. I wasn’t exactly a good catch during any of those times.”

Bucky leans over and pulls him into a hug.

“You’re getting out of bed on most days now. You’re doing so good.”

Steve smiles, burrowing his face into Bucky’s neck. “I always did much better at life when I had you with me.”

Bucky holds him for a while longer before pulling back and brushing a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Come on, let’s finish watching the candy being made.”

He gropes behind himself and pulls out the remote. Turning it to Steve, he points at the button that will make the show continue.

Steve groans. The damn triangle—he knew that. “I knew that.”

Bucky smirks. “Sure you did.”


	9. Chapter 9

He’s passing the partially closed door of Bucky’s room when he hears a quiet whine followed by panting.

For a few days, they’ve been practicing having Bucky napping without Steve staying in the room with him. At night, Bucky’s been making himself stay out of Steve’s room for longer periods of time. He still isn’t comfortable sleeping at the same time as Steve, but he’s been gradually feeling safer in their apartment and allowing himself to accept that nobody is going to come in and hurt them.

As much as Steve loves spending time with Bucky when he sleeps, and waking up to see Bucky in his room with him, he knows this is another step towards Bucky’s independence, which is vital to his recovery.

When it comes to Bucky’s wellbeing, Steve will always ruthlessly push his own feelings aside. They’re irrelevant.

He’s compromised by keeping Bucky’s door partially open so he can peer in from time to time to make sure Bucky isn’t having any nightmares.

Hearing the whine and hitched breathing, Steve doesn’t even hesitate before he pushes open the door, heading towards the bed.

“Buck, are—” his whispered question dies on his lips when he sees that Bucky isn’t only awake but he’s most definitely not needing Steve’s help with anything.

He’s thrown the covers off himself and the boxer shorts he sleeps in are discarded beside him. His right hand is jerking his cock at a rapid pace, but he slows his rhythm at Steve’s intrusion.

“Hey, Stevie,” he pants. He’s grinning at Steve, his eyes half lidded from arousal. His hand doesn’t stop moving.

“I’m—shit, sorry. I’m—sorry—I’ll—” Steve’s already backing out of the room, forcing himself to stop staring at Bucky’s hand slowly sliding up his cock.

Seeing Steve’s discomfort, Bucky removes his hand and sits up. “No, it’s okay!”

Steve’s at the door. “I can see that, Buck. I’ll let you finish and I’ll be out here…watching…television.”

“You can stay if you want to.”

Steve freezes. “Do—do you want me to stay?”

Bucky’s staring at him. “Yes. I don’t _need_ you to stay, but I _want_ you to stay. But only if you want to stay.”

“I—I uh—”

Bucky smiles softly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to. Forget I said anything. Sorry about this whole—” he waves his hand over himself. When he glances down at himself, he gropes for the covers and pulls them over his lap.

That’s—that’s not what Steve wants. Steve wants those covers off Bucky. But what if Bucky—

Bucky tilts his head at him. “You’re thinking too hard, Rogers. We don’t have to touch each other. We’ve done this a hundred times in the same bed. It doesn’t have to be any different than it was back then.”

Steve swallows hard. “You sure?”

“Absolutely. But don’t do it because you think I want you to. Do it if you want to.”

Steve hesitates before cautiously taking a step into the room.

“Wait!”

He freezes.

“Since you’re still up, can you grab a rag? And some lotion?”

Steve gives Bucky an unimpressed look. “Not very prepared, are you?”

“I woke up with it. It doesn’t happen very often so I didn’t wanna risk getting up and having it vanish.”

Steve obediently goes to retrieve both items and then dumps them on the bedside table. He walks around the bed and sits down.

Bucky is grinning happily at him. He lies back down and flings the cover off himself. He’s still hard.

“Hurry up, Rogers. You’re behind.”

Steve pulls off his sweatpants and underwear and lies down. His hands twitch towards the covers that Bucky had abandoned.

Bucky saves him from having to make a choice by flinging a portion of the blanket over his waist, covering his groin.

“Not like I haven’t seen it before, but not everyone’s born to be a strip-teaser.”

Steve huffs a laugh and tries to relax.

Bucky pokes him in the side and holds up the lotion bottle. Steve holds out a hand and Bucky squirts some into it. He gives himself a handful too and then lies back.

“Alright, see you on the other side.”

Steve closes his eyes and listens as Bucky resumes jerking himself. Within seconds, his breathing is rough and a few quiet moans creep in. It takes Steve right back to their old apartment in Brooklyn, and even their barrack tents. They’d spent their entire lives doing this together, side by side. He knows all of Bucky’s sounds as well as his own.

He takes a few breaths to steady himself, then runs his down his chest, over his stomach and rubs his cock. He desperately hopes his body will cooperate with him today. It had been happening with some alarming regularity that he couldn’t get hard, or even if he did, it wouldn’t last. Until recently, Steve had honestly not cared why it was happening. Then curiosity had won and he’d researched on the internet a bit and found that such problems were pretty common for people suffering from depression. Apparently, even the serum wasn’t a match for it.

He focuses on the sounds Bucky is making: the wet squelching sound of his hand jerking his cock, the breathy moans and whines coming from the back of his throat.

He gently strokes his cock and to his surprise, finds himself slowly getting hard. He pushes the covers off himself, not wanting to mess them up now that he knows there’s a chance that something might actually be happening.

“God, Stevie—”

Steve opens his eyes and sees Bucky staring at his cock. “I—I forgot how good you look like that.”

Steve lets out a choked laugh. “You’re not too shabby looking either.”

Bucky grins. “You can look if you want. Don’t gotta close your eyes unless you want to.”

Now that he has permission, Steve can’t take his eyes off Bucky. He watches his hand moving on his cock, the tip leaking steadily and pre-cum dripping down his hand. Bucky’s grinning at him, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. He lets out a loud groan and briefly closes his eyes when he twists his hand a certain way.

Steve’s cock twitches at the sound and he grips it tighter, arousal flaring through his body. His hand picks up speed and he realizes he’s panting and whining too. Damn, he’d nearly forgotten how good this feels.

At some point, Steve can tell that Bucky’s holding himself back because of him, possibly not wanting Steve to feel awkward if Bucky finishes before him.

“Let me see you come, Buck. Please,” he breathes out, his eyes flicking between Bucky’s cock and his face.

“Don’t wanna leave you behind,” Bucky gasps out.

Steve manages a panted laugh. “I won’t be far behind, I promise.”

Bucky smiles and his hand moves faster until his body tenses and he’s coming all over himself, his back arching and his eyes rolling back.

That’s all Steve needs. Within a few strokes he’s coming too, his body seizing up with pleasure. He strokes himself through it, barely managing to breathe. He doesn’t manage to do anything except lie there for long moments, gasping for breath and feeling like he’s floating.

When he feels like his brain has returned to his body, he tilts his head and stares at Bucky, who’s staring back at him.

“How was that?”

Steve shrugs. “Okay, I guess,” he says, a smile on his face.

Bucky laughs and grabs the cloth. He wipes himself off and then throws it at Steve’s chest. “You have spunk in your _hair_ , Rogers. That’s better than okay.”

Steve laughs and wipes himself off. Both of their shirts are filthy so they pull them off and throw them towards Bucky’s laundry hamper.

Christ, he feels good.

He throws the wash cloth towards the hamper too and closes his eyes. He could happily stay in bed for the rest of the day.

Before he nods off, he opens his eyes and pushes himself up and crawls closer to Bucky. He’s lying down again, staring at him with a content smile on his face.

“Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?”

Steve bends down and gives him a kiss. “Thanks. That was a dilly of an idea.”

Bucky grins and raises his head for another kiss. “Thanks yourself.”

“That makes no sense.”

“My brain is still on the ceiling, so pardon me.”

“That ain’t your brain, idiot, that’s your spunk.”

Bucky laughs quietly and pulls Steve down so he’s lying on Bucky’s chest, his head under his chin and Bucky’s right arm wrapped around him. “You interrupted my nap earlier, so you’re gonna help me finish it.”

“I think it was you doing unspeakable things to your unmentionables that cut your nap short, not me.”

“Shut up, punk.”

“You shut up, jerk.”

*             *             *

His phone rings while he’s stacking chairs following the end of his last session of the day. Sam glances at the caller ID and recognizes the Stark Industries main number.

He doesn’t bother checking for privacy before answering the call. If it’s an emergency that requires him to suit up, the call would have come from Tony’s private number. If the call’s coming from the main number, it’s some bureaucratic issue, or it’s about Steve. Neither of those issues will require him to have privacy.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Wilson? Tony Stark.”

Sam rolls his eyes at Tony’s formality. It’s Tony’s way of letting him know that there are probably half a dozen suits listening in on their conversation. Which Sam had already deduced from the call’s origin.

“Mr. Stark. What can I do for you?”

“I’m just calling to see if you know what’s going on with our dear friend, Captain US of A.”

“Nope. I have no information about Steve Rogers that I need to share.”

“None?”

“Nope. Just like last Thursday when you called. I didn’t have any information that I needed to share then, and I still don’t.”

“That’s unfortunate, Mr. Wilson.” Tony’s sarcasm can probably be heard in Antarctica.

“It’s a tragedy of epic proportions, Mr. Stark.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Anything else?”

“I hear that Captain Rogers’ roommate is still with him.”

“Was that a question?”

“There are certain people who would love to know more about him.”

“I’m sure there are. It’s a pity those people’s parents never taught them to mind their own business.”

“It really is.”

“I have no information about Steve Rogers’ roommate that I need to share.”

“That’s unfortunate, Mr. Wilson.”

“That, too, is a tragedy of epic proportions. I’m just full of those today. Like I was last week. And the week before.”

Tony sighs heavily. “Well, thank you very much for your time, Mr. Wilson.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark. I’m looking forward to repeating this chat next week.”

“As am I.”

With an exasperated grin, Sam disconnects the call and then goes to collect the spare brochures from the table outside the hall.

*             *             *

Bucky shoves a pair of scissors under Steve’s nose as Steve finishes drying the last plate. After Bucky had finished with the washing, he’d left Steve to finish drying the dishes and had disappeared into the bathroom. Then he’d come back into the kitchen and rummaged in a drawer.

Now he’s waving a pair of scissors around.

“You want me to wash them, Buck?”

“Can you cut my hair?”

The question takes him by surprise. It’s the first time Bucky’s brought up getting his hair cut. His hair had been getting longer as the months ticked by, but Bucky had been keeping it clean and neat, held back with a variety of hair elastics most of the time.

“I don’t know, Buck. I’ve never done it before.”

“You didn’t do it before?”

Steve laughs. “Me? No. You wouldn’t let me near your hair. I offered but you always reacted like I was threatening to cut your nose off. You helped cut my hair, but I never did yours.”

Bucky makes a face, not pleased by this. “So you don’t wanna?”

“I never said I didn’t wanna, I just said I’ve never done it before.”

That seems to relax Bucky. “So you’ll do it?”

“Of course!”

“I tried doing it on my own but I ain’t doing it with the metal hand and doing it with one hand is tough.”

Steve makes a sympathetic face. “Don’t worry about it, Buck. I’ll help. You head into the bathroom and get things set up.”

When Steve’s finished with the dishes, he heads into bathroom. Bucky’s already pulled a kitchen chair into it and he’s sitting in front of the mirror, a towel draped around his shoulders. He hands Steve the scissors as he comes in.

Steve turns on the faucet and wets down Bucky’s hair and combs through it. Then he looks at Bucky in the mirror.

“So how short do you want it?”

Bucky’s giving him a calculating look. “How short do _you_ want it?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “We’ve been over this, jerk. I don’t care how your hair looks. I want you to like your hair, that’s all. You can shave it all off, keep growing it out, do something in between, it doesn’t matter to me.”

Bucky smiles. “Okay, then cut it so it’s just under my ears. But long enough so I can tie it back.”

Times like these remind Steve of how far Bucky has come. A few months ago, making a decision like how short he wanted his hair cut would have paralyzed him. Even the idea of getting his hair cut wouldn’t have occurred to him.

Steve pulls back the strands, testing how much he can cut off without compromising Bucky’s hair styling options.

Satisfied, he smooths down the strands again and then gets the scissors ready. “Ready?”

“I’ll be in an old-folks home by the time you get done if you don’t get a move on.”

Steve pulls a small section of hair taut and snips off the frayed edges. As he’s looking at Bucky’s hair more closely, he’s noticing how different sections of hair are different lengths, like they had been chopped off in a hurry or with an ill-suited instrument. Probably it’s both. Bucky has never told Steve particulars on how Hydra had conducted hygiene related activities and Steve doesn’t want to push him about it. If Bucky wants him to know those details, he’ll tell him.

He takes his time, carefully cutting off small sections and making his way around Bucky’s head, making sure everything is the same length. He’s grateful Bucky’s choosing to keep his hair long like this—doing a shorter hair cut would require the skills of a hair dresser, which probably isn’t something Bucky would want to deal with at this point.

When Steve’s done, he checks in with Bucky, who immediately checks to make sure the hair’s still long enough to put up. Then he tucks it behind his ears and turns his head side to side, inspecting himself in the mirror

“Alright, that’s adequate, I suppose.” He grins at Steve’s narrow-eyed glare. “Thanks a million, punk!”

Steve pulls the towel off Bucky’s shoulder, shakes it out in the bathtub and then smacks Bucky lightly over the head with it.

“Oops. Sorry, didn’t see ya there, Barnes.”

“You’re hilarious.”

*             *             *

“Do you think we should vacuum again?”

“Christ, Rogers, it ain’t the President who’s coming over. Sam’s not gonna care if the place looks lived in. I agreed to not wear my Hulk slippers and I cut my hair, but I’m not vacuuming again. There are limits.”

Steve looks around the living room with a critical eye. Despite Bucky’s bravado, they _had_ spent the day cleaning things up. The place was never filthy, but they spent time doing a few loads of laundry, scrubbing the bathroom and kitchen, collecting scattered things and vacuuming.

They had already put up most of Steve’s sketches in picture frames in both of their rooms and in other parts of the apartment, but they had some old Brooklyn photos Sam had scrounged up for them which they hadn’t gotten around to putting up. Bucky had gone to Walmart the day before and picked up more frames and after cleaning they had spent time putting those up.

Steve had baked some chocolate chip muffins and now he’s spending way too much time arranging them properly on a plate.

Bucky rolls his eyes at him and pulls his phone out to call Sam. “Yeah, Rogers is gonna have a heart attack if you don’t get here soon.” A pause. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Bucky snaps the phone shut and gives Steve a look. “He’s coming over now so you don’t have to spend another two hours fretting.”

Steve makes a face.

“It’ll be fine. I promise. I think Sam’s a good guy and he’s gonna know if he’s making us uncomfortable. And if either of us get too jittery, the other will make him leave. Nothing to worry about.”

Steve makes another face. He still looks worried and he’s still fiddling with the muffins.

“Hey.” Bucky turns him away from the muffins. He backs him against the counter and gives him a kiss. Steve sighs softly and wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and pulls him closer. Bucky doesn’t push and waits until Steve leans in for another kiss before meeting him halfway.

The kisses are soft and affectionate, meant to soothe and comfort rather than arouse. That’s the territory their kissing has stayed in so far.

“Come on, sit down and watch some television until he’s here. Or check your cooking forum. See if somebody answered your question about the pizza.”

*             *             *

Sam is careful not to have any expectations as he approaches Steve’s apartment. As a counsellor he’s only too aware of how damaging it can be for a patient if they realize somebody has too high expectations for them and they failed to meet them.

He’s been keeping tabs on Bucky’s progress—and Steve’s progress—by small conversations here and there with both of them. He’s always been careful not to push and he only takes information that’s freely given.

It’s been several months now since Bucky had started living with Steve and Sam wanted to come by to see how things were going.

He’d explained to Steve that his visit has multiple purposes. One, he really wants to meet Bucky Barnes. He’s always been fascinated by the man who had known Steve Rogers his whole life and has held his heart for nearly as long. He remembers the few interactions he has had with the Winter Soldier and he’s curious to see how much of that persona remains.

Two, he wants to see how they will react with having a new person in their lives, especially in their apartment. Whether the two of them realize it or not, their lives are incredibly sheltered and isolated. They live in a little bubble and rarely interact with the outside world. Being on a bus or in a store with other people didn’t count, Sam has told Steve, if you don’t actually interact with them. As curious as he is about how Bucky will react to having Sam in the apartment, he’s also looking forward to seeing Steve’s reaction. Steve has been holed up in his little bubble for a long time before Bucky had arrived.

And three, based on what he’s heard from both of them, he thinks that Bucky’s recovery is far enough along that it’s time to address some more difficult issues. From experience, Sam knows it’s better to discuss those things in person and in the company of a trusted loved one, rather than on a phone. And if things go well, he also has things he wants to discuss regarding Steve’s recovery, which will hopefully also go smoother with Bucky being there to support him.

Reaching their apartment building, he hits the #205 buzzer button. He hears Steve’s voice come through the intercom.

“It’s me,” Sam says.

“Come on up.”

The door buzzes and Sam lets himself in. He heads up to the apartment and knocks on the door. Steve opens the door, a big smile on his face.

“Hi, Sam!” He pulls Sam into an enthusiastic hug. Sam is pleasantly surprised by the cheerful greeting and squeezes him in a big hug.

“Hey, buddy,” he replies, releasing him.

Steve pulls the door open wider. “Come on in.”

Sam steps in and takes his shoes off and jacket off. Steve’s taking the jacket from him to hang up and Sam takes a moment to look at the other items hung up by the door: multiple jackets, a black backpack that appears to be empty, and two bike helmets.

Sam steps forward into the living room and he’s almost distracted by the pictures on the wall, when he sees a man leaning against the back of the couch.

The man takes a step forward, his hand out. “Hey. James Barnes. Nice to finally meet you.”

Sam nods. “Sam Wilson. Although you knew that.”

Barnes huffs a quiet, amused laugh. They shake hands and Sam takes a moment to stare at him. He looks absolutely nothing like the soldier who had tried to kill him all those months ago.

He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a blue hoodie, which Sam notes with amusement has a picture of Steve’s shield on it. His hair is slicked back and neatly combed. It’s a bit shorter than it had been when Sam had last seen him, now curling just below his ears. He’s clean-shaven and smiling calmly at Sam. It’s clear he’s relaxed and feels safe in this environment.

“Should we—should we sit down?” Steve appears by Sam’s elbow, gesturing towards the couch.

Unlike Barnes, Steve is not relaxed in the slightest. He and Barnes sit down on the couch and Sam takes a seat on the rocking chair beside the television. Steve’s jumpy and anxious, breathing just a touch too fast.

“Oh, shit, the muffins. Excuse me.” Steve jumps up and heads into the kitchen and brings a large plate of muffins back with him, which he slides onto the coffee table.

Without any prompting, Barnes immediately grabs one and starts munching on it. Sam follows his example.

“Damn, Steve, these are good!” Sam mumbles, his mouth a bit too full for it to be polite, but the muffin’s good enough that it needs to be said right away.

Barnes swallows and grins at Steve. He puts a hand on his thigh and squeezes gently. “See? Told you somebody would have to be dead to not like them.”

Steve still looks anxious and worried. Sam finishes his muffin and glances around the living room, trying to find a distraction.

“Hey, you guys put up the picture frames!”

That brings out a smile from Steve. “Yeah. Wanna see?”

If there’s one thing that’ll get Steve comfortable, it’s talking about his past. So Sam stands up and lets Steve lead him around, showing him the sketches and photos they’d put up.

A photo of a Brooklyn street from 1932 hangs right above the television—it’s one of the photos Sam had found for Steve—beside a framed sketch of the Howling Commandos on leave. Steve had drawn them huddled around a table, dressed in a mix of casual clothes and uniforms, drinks in everybody’s hand and smiles on everybody’s faces. Steve is on one of the chairs and Bucky’s sitting beside him, one leg on Steve’s lap. Steve had drawn them both laughing.

Steve’s bedroom mostly has sketches of Bucky, Peggy Carter—who Sam recognizes from the museum— and Steve’s family, along with a photo of the grand opening of the Cyclone ride on Coney Island from 1927, while Bucky’s room has sketches of Steve and Bucky from the pre-Captain America era, and a beautiful sketch of Bucky surrounded by an older man and woman and three young girls. All of them resemble Bucky to a certain extent so Sam guesses they must be the Barnes family. There’s also a photo of a trolley and cars on a cobblestone paved Brooklyn Bridge during rush hour in 1938. A photo of the older woman from the family portrait—probably Bucky’s mother—is in a smaller frame on the bedside table.

As they tour around, Sam is also pleased to note that Bucky seems to have fully moved into his room. The closet is filled with clothes and the bedside table has some odds and ends—a comb, a clock, hair ties, a bottle of water— on it. The bed is neatly made and he’s amused to see a pair of enormous green slippers stuffed underneath. He sees Steve’s eyes get a bit wide when he sees them, but Sam pretends not to notice.

He peeks into the bathroom as they pass and sees two toothbrushes and two sets of razors on the sink. The bathtub is filled with an array of different bottles of all colors and shapes. It’s obvious that Barnes feels comfortable enough to let his belongings mix freely with Steve’s now.

They get back to the living room and reclaim their seats. Barnes takes another muffin and tears a piece off, handing it to Steve, who’s looking slightly more relaxed. Steve takes the piece of muffin and eats it, looking pleased by his baking efforts.

Barnes is looking at him in an ‘I told you so’ way. Steve rolls his eyes. Barnes chuckles.

Their comfort with each other is obvious. It hits Sam for the first time that he’s the first person to see the two of them like this since 1944.

“So, I wanna say that I’m incredibly proud of both of you. It’s fine if neither of you care about that, but I just wanted to put it out there. Considering what both of you have been through, the progress you both have made here is amazing.”

They’re both looking a bit embarrassed by the praise and are jostling each other, as if they’re trying to make sure the other knows that Sam is as proud of them as they are.

They’re freaking adorable.

“Mainly, I just wanted to come by and meet James and see how my pictures look on the wall—”

“What do you mean _your_ pictures, Wilson? They ain’t your pictures no more, they’re on our wall,” Steve says, grinning at him.

Barnes chuckles.

Even though he’s heard it before, Sam still can’t quite get accustomed to hearing the strong Brooklyn twang in Steve’s voice. He’d noticed during phone calls that James had regained his Brooklyn accent quite quickly, but Steve had lost his entirely before James had re-entered his life. Once James was more verbal, Steve’s accent had come back very quickly.

Sam assumes that losing the accent had been a non-negotiable aspect of being Captain America during his USO touring days—Captain America had to appeal to all Americans, and having such a distinct accent would have alienated some people in the 40s. He guesses that Steve had gotten accustomed to hiding his Brooklyn accent and hadn’t felt the need—or possibly the desire—to bring it back once he’d come out of the ice.

That is, until James Barnes re-entered his life and brought Brooklyn back with him.

“Fine, _your_ pictures. Happy?”

“Immensely. You may continue.”

“As I was saying, I’m here as a friend, but if either of you want to talk about how things have been going and what the next steps could be, then we can talk about that.”

Steve grins. “Go for it. Don’t start sugar coating things now. It’s ain’t your style.”

Sam laughs. “Fine. Here we go. Both of you need to get out more. You’ve built very comfortable lives in your little bubble here, and it’s fantastic and safe and cozy, but you’re isolating yourselves from the rest of the world and that’s not good.”

Steve looks ready to argue and Barnes purses his lips, unimpressed.

Sam quickly continues. “I don’t mean you have to go attend a bunch of dinner parties, and if you don’t want to do things like read the paper and keep up with what’s going on in the world, you don’t have to. That’s not what I’m talking about. There are only so many activities you can do that’ll keep you occupied and happy here in the apartment. There are tons of things out there that you’d probably enjoy doing. Plus, in order to maintain your social skills and your ability to comfortably interact with other people, it’s important to do things with other people, not just with each other.”

Steve still looks a bit mad. “I have hobbies now, just like you said. Why do I need to have every second of my day full of something?”

Barnes squeezes his thigh with his right hand. “That’s not what he’s saying, Steve. He means there are tons of things that we might like doing that we don’t have access to if we always stay in the apartment. Like the biking. If Sam hadn’t bought us those bikes, it probably would have never occurred to us to try it and now we love doing that.”

“Exactly. I’m not saying you have to spend every second of your day doing something and there’s nothing wrong with having lazy time on the couch, but there’s a whole world outside your little bubble that you’re ignoring. And I think you both might find things out there that you’d like to do.”

Steve looks a bit calmer and Barnes looks keen on the idea.

“Give me some examples,” he says, looking at Sam.

“Volunteering somewhere, joining a club or sports team, doing small jobs like dog walking or lawn work. There’s lots of stuff.”

Barnes is nodding. “We’ll work on that. Poking our heads out of our bubble can’t be that hard. It’ll be a gas.” He glances at Steve and elbows him until he nods in agreement.

“Okay, connected to that, I think you both need to start thinking about—not necessarily doing anything about it—but _thinking_ about what you’d like to do in terms of working. I know you’ve got enough money that you don’t need to work if you don’t want to, but earning a living has a lot of benefits aside from financial ones.”

Barnes is frowning. Steve doesn’t seem enthused about the idea at all.

“Like I said, it’s not something that either of you have to do anything about right now, but it’s something to think about. Steve—have you given any thought about whether you’re coming back to SHIELD?”

“SHIELD doesn’t exist anymore, Sam.”

“Not in the original format, but little cells survived here and there and they’re starting to unite and get organized again. Operations aren’t anywhere near the scale that they used to be at, but things are heading that way.”

Steve’s frowning. “How do you know this stuff?”

“I’ve been working with Tony Stark. I consult with certain things and I help out if they need it.”

“Does Stark know about Bucky?”

Sam waves a hand. “Listen, don’t worry about any of this. I’ve been deliberately keeping you out of the loop. If you want back into the loop, you’re more than welcome, but until then, you don’t have to worry about it. Technically, your commitment to SHIELD ended when SHIELD collapsed. Nobody can force you to come back. As far as James is concerned, nobody at SHIELD knows about the connection between the Winter Soldier and James, and nobody knows that James is alive, never mind that he’s here with you. They know somebody’s living with you, but there’s been very little surveillance on you since SHIELD went belly up and they don’t know who your roommate is.”

Steve nods. He doesn’t look reassured, but Sam can tell he’s torn between being worried and wanting to not care about SHIELD.

“The main point is, whether or not you come back to SHIELD—and what form your involvement might take—is a decision that’s purely up to you. You can hang up your shield for good, or you can come back tomorrow.”

Steve sighs. “God, Sam, I haven’t even thought about SHIELD in months.”

“I know. And I didn’t bring it up to pressure you. The choice is completely up to you, and if you decide to hang up the shield, then nobody can stop you. And trust me, I’ve already made it clear to SHIELD, they’re never getting any information about you from me. Never.”

Steve smiles softly. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Don’t even thank me. You’d do the same.”

Steve sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Alright, let’s move on. I don’t want to talk about SHIELD anymore.”

“No problem. The next thing I wanted to bring up was therapy.”

Steve looks ready to argue again and Sam holds up a hand. “I’m just the suggestion maker, Steve, don’t shoot me. I think the two of you are each other’s best possible support system, but there are a lot of benefits to talking to a therapist. Now—it’s not for everybody. I won’t push it, but if either of you would like to see a therapist, I have a list of names I can give you.”

“I’d like that.”

Both Steve and Sam stare at James in surprise. Steve looks more stunned than Sam.

“Seriously?”

Before Sam can chide Steve for the disrespectful comment, Barnes is shrugging. “Yeah, seriously. I’d really like that.”

“Buck, you know you can tell me anything. _Anything_.”

“I know. This ain’t about that, Steve. There are some things in my head that I’d really like to talk to somebody about, but there’s no way I’m telling you about them.”

“Why not?” Steve seems completely offended.

Barnes scowls. “Because it’s bad enough that the images are in my head, I’m not putting them into yours! A therapist gets paid to listen to that stuff, so I don’t feel guilty telling them.” He holds up a hand to forestall Steve’s arguments. “And if the situation were reversed you’d do the same thing.” He gave him a hard look. “Exact. Same. Thing.”

He looks at Sam. “When could I start?”

“I have a list of names we can go through. I’ll tell you a little about each one and you can choose whoever you think will suit you.”

Barnes is nodding, before he seems to remember something. “How much do they cost?”

It’s on the tip of Sam’s tongue to tell James the usual range when Steve gives a sharp shake of his head. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t tell him, Sam. It don’t matter. Tell the therapist not to tell him how much it costs. Buck—you just hand them the credit card I gave you and that’s that.”

Barnes doesn’t look overly happy with that, but he drops the subject.

Sam looks at Steve. “What about you, Steve? What do you think about the idea?”

He shakes his head. “No. It’s not for me. I’d never be able to sit there and tell a stranger the things in my head. I—I don’t like the idea. At all.” He glances at Barnes. “But if it’ll make you feel better, Buck, then you go. The cost doesn’t matter and if you want, I’ll go with you and wait outside the door every day.”

Barnes gives him a small smile. “I know.”

“Alright, now that that’s settled, I’m gonna have more muffins, and I want to hear all about what you both have been up to. Steve—do you seriously have a twitter account?”

Barnes is grinning and hops up to grab the computer. “Does he ever! He gets into arguments with people all the time.”

Steve pretends to look irritated. “I’m only defending people!”

Barnes is bringing the computer to the couch. “Yesterday you spent half an hour arguing with somebody over the theme song being changed on the car restoration show. You weren’t defending anybody.”


	10. Chapter 10

Steve manages to put on a good front and play the part of good host to Sam while he’s there and then the part of the good roommate to Bucky for the rest of the day.

But by the next morning, he’s exhausted. The anxiety that Sam’s suggestions had brought on is making his brain race and his hands shake. He knows Sam’s suggestions are valid and good. He knows he’s been keeping himself locked up in his bubble for way too long and his excuses would eventually run their course. He’s known that finding himself hobbies that restrict him to a computer screen or television screen wouldn’t satisfy Sam—but he’s been hoping to fly under his radar for longer.

He knows that Sam can’t actually make him do anything he doesn’t want to do. If he wants to stay in his apartment for the rest of his life, then that’s his right. He isn’t hurting anybody and he isn’t starving or forgetting to bathe. He’s fine.

But he knows he _should_ do the things Sam suggested. He just can’t. Even the thought of taking those steps forward is overwhelming, never mind actually doing anything about it.

What also ratchets up his anxiety is the fact that Bucky seemed to embrace Sam’s advice. He’d been all over the therapy idea and had warmed to the whole doing-stuff-outside idea quite quickly. Steve knows he should be thrilled that Bucky is embracing the steps that pave his road to recovery but he knows every step Bucky takes on that road is another step away from Steve.

And Steve hates himself for being angry about it, because as the man who loves Bucky more than anybody ever has and ever will, he should be just as happy as Bucky about this. But the selfish, needy part of him that wants to cling to Bucky and keep him in their little bubble for the rest of their lives refuses to allow himself to be as happy for Bucky as he should be.

He’s jittery from anxiety and also irritated with himself. Unfortunately, after having put on a friendly smile for the rest of that day, by the next morning, he’s a bundle of fear, irritation and sadness.

His brain races in endless circles, a constant litany reminding him that Bucky would start therapy and not need Steve’s support anymore. He would go out and find new friends, people who are fun and liked to go dancing and didn’t hide in their apartments while watching stupid shows about how cough drops are made. By the end, Steve would just be a burden to Bucky, nothing more. Then Bucky will move out, ready to live his life without Steve.

And Steve won’t stop him, because the last thing Bucky needs in his life is more burdens.

Bucky might feel sorry for Steve (as he always had) and he’ll delay moving out. But Steve will put on a good front and encourage him to leave. Because Bucky doesn’t need any more burdens in his life and Steve refuses to become one.

Then Steve will be alone again and life will go back to being the way it was before Steve brought Bucky home.

Tears well up and that familiar black sadness envelopes him and Steve buries his face in his pillow to silence his crying.

He should be grateful that he had the chance to have Bucky back, even for a little while. But right now, he doesn’t have the energy to be the grateful bigger person. Right now he’s just sad and scared.

At one point, Bucky brings him a sandwich. Steve suddenly feels irrationally angry in response, hating that Bucky’s reminding him of how useless Steve is. He sits up and snaps that if he wanted a sandwich, he’d make himself a sandwich—he wasn’t some invalid.

Bucky blinks at him, hand still holding the plate with the sandwich. Then he drops the plate on the table by Steve’s bed and tells him since the sandwich is already made, Bucky has no desire to do anything else with it so Steve was welcome to eat it or leave it to grow a mold jacket.

That’s when Steve gets up and shuts his door. The two of them have an unspoken policy of not barging into each other’s rooms if the doors are shut. On most days, both of their doors remain open, even if it’s just a crack.

But today, Steve shuts the door. He knows Bucky can hear it shutting.

Steve only gets up to use the bathroom and drink some water out of the faucet. He has his phone with him and listlessly plays games on it when he’s not dozing or letting his mind swirl with anxious thoughts.

Bucky stops outside the door in the evening. He asks if Steve wants him to spend the night with him. Steve’s first reaction is irritation, snapping at Bucky that he doesn’t need a babysitter.

Bucky leaves. Then Steve goes back to crying.

The sadness stays for three days. On the other two days, he manages to drag himself out of bed and onto the couch, where he listlessly watches television, not caring what it is he’s actually watching. He eats cereal, toast and cans of fruit and goes back to bed every few hours, feeling utterly exhausted.

Bucky stays out of his way for the most part, not bothering to offer him food after the sandwich incident. During the day, Bucky mainly stays out of the apartment or in his room with the laptop, probably not wanting to be around Steve’s mood.

He’s always back at night. After he finishes in the bathroom, he always stops outside Steve’s closed door and asks softly if he wants Bucky to stay with him at night, but Steve always turns him down.

He doesn’t want Bucky around because he knows it’ll just make it hurt more when Bucky leaves permanently. Steve knows he’s being stupid, and really, he should be soaking up every bit of Bucky’s time that he can selfishly lay claim to, but the unfairness of it all overrides that and he would rather be alone.

*             *             *

On the morning of day four, Steve feels much better and suddenly, the situation doesn’t seem as dire as it had seemed for the past three days. It is dire, but not as bad as he had thought.

As soon as he wakes up, he goes to find Bucky, who’s washing dishes.

“Hey, Buck,” he says, coming up behind him.

Bucky stops, one hand holding the sponge and the other holding a plate. He glances over his shoulder and a happy grin spreads over his face when he sees Steve shyly smiling at him.

“Hey, Stevie. Good morning. How’re you feeling?”

“Better. I’m so sorry, Buck. I’m so damn sor—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“I get hacked off at the dumbest things and I’m always so nasty—”

“Not always, and it’s not your fault. Besides, you didn’t go out of you way to pick a fight, which I appreciated. You needed your space and that’s fine.”

Steve stares at Bucky, his eyes twinkling and looking so pleased.

The last time he had lost this man, he had willingly flown a plane into a sheet of ice. When he loses him again, he prays that he’ll have enough energy to get rid of himself again.

And hopefully it’ll be permanent that time.

But until then, he’ll continue helping Bucky on his road to recovery and be the man he deserves.

*             *             *

Steve’s putting the finishing touches on the lasagna recipe he’s posting on the recipe website. He’d adapted another recipe to the extent that it bears very little resemblance to the original one and Bucky had encouraged him to post it as his own creation.

Bucky had even taken a picture of it with Steve’s phone and helped him upload the picture to the site. Steve’s reading through the recipe one last time when Bucky wanders in from the bathroom. He’s tying back his drying hair and drops down beside Steve, propping his chin on his shoulder to see the screen, his hand on Steve’s belly for balance.

“Ready to post?”

“Almost. Just double checking everything.”

Bucky’s quiet as Steve finishes reading and then finally saves the recipe.

“Let me see it.”

“You literally just saw it.”

“No, on the main page.”

Steve goes to the main search bar and types in lasagna. He filters the results by upload date, and he feels a rush of pride as his recipe shows up as the first option.

“Look at that!”

Bucky’s grinning and rubs Steve’s belly. “Yay! Chef Rogers posted his first recipe!”

“With help. Lots of help.”

Bucky makes a face. “I took the picture, that’s it. Big deal. You could have posted it without the photo.”

“The photo makes it a thousand times better and you know it. And that’s not all you did, jerk. You were my taste tester the whole way through and showed me how to type everything up properly. Without you, the recipe would only be an idea in my head.”

“You’re giving me too much credit.”

“Shut your mouth, Barnes.”

Bucky grins coyly, looking up at him from his shoulder. “Make me.”

Steve laughs and puts the computer on the coffee table, then twists around and pulls Bucky onto his lap. Some strands of hair had gotten loose from Bucky’s hair tie and Steve brushes them behind Bucky’s ear and kisses him.

When Bucky opens his mouth, no doubt to make a smart ass comment, Steve mutters “Nope,” under his breath and dives back in for another kiss. Bucky’s lips are warm and moist from the bath and Steve sighs softly.

Bucky tilts his head for a better angle and presses his lips more firmly to Steve’s. He brings up his metal arm and braces it against the back of the couch for balance as he presses himself forward. They both moan as their groins are pressed together.

“This okay?” Bucky mutters in between kisses. Steve doesn’t bother opening his eyes. He winds his arms around Bucky’s waist and pulls him even closer so their chests are pressed together too.

Bucky chuckles against his mouth. “I guess it is, huh?”

“Too much talking,” Steve mutters.

Bucky’s on the verge of making another comment just to wind Steve up further, when he feels Steve’s tongue darting out and brushing Bucky’s lips.

“Sorry,” Steve mutters.

Bucky presses his forehead against Steve’s. “Wanna do that again? On purpose?”

“Hell yes. Do you want me to?”

“Less talking, Rogers. You’re such a hypocrite.”

Steve’s lips recapture his and Bucky feels Steve’s tongue gently licking along the seam of his lips. He parts his lips slightly and feels Steve’s tongue pressing in. He lets his own tongue meet Steve’s, tangling them together. He can feel Steve’s tentativeness and curiosity. Bucky moans and reluctantly pulls back.

Bucky’s pants are starting to get tight and he can feel that Steve’s getting hard too.

“Stevie, I think we should stop for today,” he whispers.

“Okay.”

Bucky hears the disappointment in Steve’s voice before he can mask it. He frowns. “We don’t gotta stop on my account. I’m just thinking about you.”

“What if I don’t wanna stop either?”

Bucky leans back and opens his eyes. He stares at Steve’s flushed face. Steve has opened his eyes and he’s staring at Bucky, his eyes dark with arousal. God, he looks good enough to eat.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“How far you wanna go?”

“I’m the virgin around here, remember? You’re in the driver’s seat.”

Bucky gives him a look. “I know I used to be an expert, but I don’t really remember much.”

“It’ll come back to you,” Steve says, pulling Bucky’s hips close again and gently grinding his own hips up. Bucky’s breath catches in his throat as a jolt of pleasure shoots through him.

“God, Rogers,”

“You can just call me Steve, that’s fine.”

Bucky huffs a laugh. “Come here, you nitwit.” He dives in for a kiss, grabbing Steve’s chin with his right hand. He licks Steve’s lips and darts in once they part. There’s too much saliva and their teeth clank a few times, but Bucky takes his time, allowing his muscle memory to guide him. Steve is copying what Bucky’s doing with his tongue, tentative at first and then growing braver as he gets more comfortable.

They’re both grinding their hips together, pressing their clothed erections against each other. Steve whines and tightens his grip on Bucky’s hips. Bucky gently bites on Steve’s lower lip, releases it and soothes it with his tongue then darts back into his mouth.

Not wanting to come inside his pants, Bucky reluctantly pulls back again. “Pants off, Rogers. Now.”

He pushes himself up and ignores Steve’s irritated whine while he yanks off his sweatpants and underwear. Then he grabs the waistband of Steve’s sweatpants. “Lift up.”

Steve does and Bucky pulls off his pants and underwear before climbing back onto his lap. Steve’s hands immediately grab his hips to pull him back against him.

Then Steve stops. “Buck, unless we wanna change shirts after, shirts should come off too.”

Bucky grins at him. “You really got a dilly of a plan here, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve says, smirking as he pulls his shirt off and tosses it in the direction of their pants. Bucky pulls his off too and sends it flying. Steve’s hands immediately go back to Bucky’s hips and pull him close.

When their cocks press together, Steve’s head falls back on the couch. “Oh, God,” he breathes.

Bucky grins and gently starts thrusting his hips. They’re both leaking, leaving streaks on their bellies. “Feeling good, Stevie?”

“Uh huh.”

Bucky brace himself against the back of the couch, licks his right hand and wraps it around both of their lengths.

“Stevie, look,” he whispers. Steve opens his eyes and tilts his head down. His eyes are blown wide with arousal and he’s panting, staring in fascination at Bucky’s hand as he slowly jerks them.

Bucky presses his face against Steve’s cheek, both of them staring at his hand as he settles into a faster rhythm. Neither of them are small so Bucky’s hand can’t properly hold both of them.

“Stevie, lick your hand,” he gasps into Steve’s ear. He has to repeat himself when Steve apparently doesn’t understand him the first time around. In a daze, Steve does what he says and then Bucky releases them to guide Steve’s hand down.

He wraps Steve’s hand around his erection and then takes hold of Steve’s with his own hand. He starts jerking Steve the way he’d seen him do it.

Steve lets out a low moan and his hand tightens around Bucky. Bucky groans. That seems to encourage him and he starts stroking Bucky, copying Bucky’s rhythm.

They keep their faces pressed together, staring down at their hands and gasping quietly. They’re pressed close enough that their hands bump each other occasionally.

When Bucky hears Steve’s breathing start hitching, he knows he’s getting close. He strokes him faster.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re amazing, you know that? You’re doing so good,” he whispers into Steve’s ear. Steve groans and his hand nearly loses its rhythm on Bucky’s cock.

“Buck—”

“You’re doing so good.”

With a gasp, Steve tenses up, closing his eyes as his head falls back and he’s coming. Bucky works him through it, the hot spurts covering his hand and their bellies.

Bucky releases him and starts thrusting his hips, his cock moving through the loose grip Steve has on him. He presses his face into Steve’s shoulder and braces his messy right hand on Steve’s hip for more leverage. He’s getting close.

Steve blinks a few times and seems to regain enough of his senses to notice that Bucky’s getting himself off without him. He tightens the grip he has on Bucky, who lets out a whine and digs his forehead even harder into Steve’s shoulder.

“Christ, Steve.”

“Yeah. Let me see you come, Buck,” he whispers into his ear.

And just with that, Bucky’s coming, Steve jerking him through it. Bucky’s gasping into his shoulder, his hand a tight grip on Steve’s hip.

“Hot damn,” he pants out.

Steve gently releases him and brings his hand up to inspect it. Curiosity leading the way, he tentatively licks some of Bucky’s spunk off his fingers. Then he grabs Bucky’s right hand and licks that too.

“We taste kinda different,” he remarks.

Bucky’s chuckling into his shoulder. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Rogers.”

“Well hopefully not yet. I’ve got lots more education that I need to get through first.”

“There are other teachers,” Bucky mutters, still catching his breath.

Steve kisses his cheek and brings his clean hand up to Bucky’s nape and squeezes gently. “There ain’t no other teacher I want. I’ve been waiting over 80 years to take this class because I wanted it to be with this specific teacher. I’m not accepting any substitutes.”

“You’re a nitwit.”

“You’re a knucklehead. Get off my lap so I can get cleaned up, and for Christ’s sake, don’t touch the couch with that hand!”

Once they’re in the bathroom, they jostle each other for space at the sink. Steve ends up behind Bucky but sticks his hand under his armpit to get to the water.

“Have some patience, Jesus.”

Steve drops a kiss on Bucky’s right shoulder that’s conveniently right by his lips. “Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

Steve gently bites his shoulder, laughing at Bucky’s outraged squawk. Once they’re finished cleaning up, they head back to the couch and put their clothes back on.

They go back to lying on the couch, Bucky opening the laptop while Steve starts an episode of the house hunting show.

As they get settled, Bucky rests his metal arm on the couch, using his right hand on the laptop. He shifts every few minutes, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Steve can see a tiny crease between his eyebrows, a tell-tale sign that Bucky is in pain.

Steve lets it go on for a few minutes until he knows it’s not getting any better.

“Massage time?”

Bucky makes a face. “You just got comfortable.”

“You’re an idiot. Like it matters if I just sat down when you’re in pain. Christ. Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Bucky grumbles under his breath but shuts down the laptop and they head to Bucky’s room. He pulls his shirt back off and lies down on the bed while Steve gets the supplies.

Steve pulls the heating pad out and plugs it in. Leaning over Bucky, he carefully arranges it over Bucky’s neck and shoulders, avoiding anything metal.

Bucky sighs happily as the heat starts seeping into his cramped muscles, providing relief after hours of throbbing pain from the weight of the metal arm. On most days, he can mask the pain enough that Steve won’t notice but when Bucky doesn’t pay attention and it’s late in the day, his face ends up showing some of the pain.

He’s sleeping through half the night now and has a nap during the day, giving him two good opportunities to rest his body, but on days when he doesn’t spend a lot of time resting the metal arm on a table or the couch, he’s always in pain by evening.

After the heat has seeped into his throbbing muscles for a while, releasing some of the tension, Steve pulls off the heating pad and straddles Bucky’s hips. He’s coated his hands in muscle relaxant and he starts gently working it into his neck and upper back. He stays away from the scarred area where the metal is fused to Bucky’s flesh, but the rest of Bucky’s back and neck are free for him to work on.

Bucky sighs and lets out a content moan as the pain slowly seeps away, replaced by blissful warmth.

They don’t talk, having done this so many times by now that Steve knows exactly where and how to touch to make the pain fade without making Bucky uncomfortable.

Bucky starts dozing at some point when Steve puts the pad back on, gently pressing it into his muscles. By the time Steve starts the second round of massaging, Bucky’s fast asleep.

*             *             *

Bucky starts therapy on a Tuesday afternoon. Steve and him spend a while debating the logistics of how Bucky would get to and from the appointment. Sam had deliberately given him therapists to choose from who are accessible by public transit.

Bucky has narrowed it down to a woman named Jemisha Williams who specializes in trauma recovery and has extensive experience counselling veterans. Apparently she had served in the military as a psychologist for many years and then retired to start her own practice.

Bucky and Steve ride the bus to Jemisha’s office two days before their first meeting, wanting to make sure Bucky wouldn’t get lost. They find the right building and make their way inside, making their way to Jemisha’s office without any trouble. Jemisha doesn’t have a session at the time and surprises them by coming out to introduce herself. Both Steve and Bucky are surprised to see that she’s an African-American woman. Steve’s a bit ashamed to discover that his self-imposed isolation has shielded him from seeing a lot of society’s changes and advancements in the last seventy years, but being introduced to Jemisha is definitely a nice surprise. Bucky is more concerned with her qualifications and experiences, and she tolerates his questions (some of which are on the rude side) in a polite, friendly manner, probably knowing how difficult the situation is for him.

After the brief introduction, they retrace their steps back home, Bucky leading the way with no problems.

Steve does his part, staying optimistic and encouraging, especially when Bucky starts getting nervous on the day of the first appointment. Sam calls Bucky that morning, giving him a last minute pep talk.

“You’re gonna be fine, James. If you don’t wanna talk about something, then you don’t have to talk about it. She does this for a living, if you don’t like the way she’s doing something or saying something, just tell her and she’ll adjust.”

On the day of the appointment, Bucky decides he’s going to go by himself, not wanting Steve to have to hang out for hours with nothing to do. Steve makes a fuss, insisting that he doesn’t mind going and he has games to play on his phone. But Bucky dismisses it, telling him he really doesn’t think the situation will be dire enough that he needs Steve to be there to hold his hand.

Steve isn’t happy about it, but he relents. He spends the time sitting on the couch, watching a re-run of the car restoration show while keeping an eye on his phone and the front door.

He nearly falls off the couch when his phone rings, Bucky’s cell number lighting up the screen.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Buck? You okay? Where are you?”

Steve hears a quiet sniffle. “Stevie?” Bucky’s whispering so quietly Steve almost doesn’t hear him.

“I’m here, Buck. Where are you?” Panic grips him and he feels like he’s about to have a heart attack.

“I’m waiting for the bus,” Bucky whispers, his voice breaking. He’s been crying for a while.

“Do you want me to come pick you up?” Steve’s already up, trying to remember where his motorcycle keys are.

“No, no. It’s okay.”

Steve freezes, torn between going anyway, and doing what Bucky wants.

“You sure? I could be there in 15 minutes.”

A sniff. “I’m sure. The bus is almost here.”

“Then what can I do? What do you need?”

“Talk to me.”

“Okay. You want me to talk about something from today, or something from before?” They both know Steve’s asking if Bucky wants stories pre-WWII or post-waking up. The in-between time span isn’t something they like talking about.

“Before.”

Steve thinks quickly, searching for a random, safe memory to bring up. “Do you remember what we did after Eddie Winkle beat me up for the millionth time because I didn’t like him ganging up on his little brother? You’d already beaten the snot out of Eddie, but his little brother still wouldn’t stop crying. So you and I decided we needed to go the extra mile.”

As he talks, he can hear Bucky’s breathing calming. He hears the bus pulling up and the faint beep of Bucky swiping his metro card. There’s some shuffling as Bucky finds a seat.

“We snuck up their fire escape after his ma had hung their laundry, and we stole all of the clothes that belonged to Eddie. We took his entire school uniform and all of his slacks and shorts. The next morning, he had to come to school in one of his little brother’s shorts. He couldn’t even close them properly and he got a caning from Mr. Treeling for showing up without his uniform on. You remember that? We nearly died we were laughing so hard. We told him that we’d give him his clothes back, but only if he promised never to hurt his little brother again.”

“His little brother’s name was Randy, right?”

His voice sounds stronger and he’s stopped crying. Steve nods. “Yeah, that’s right.”

There’s silence for a few minutes. Then: “Tell me another one.”

So Steve launches into another one. He can hear the announcements on the bus relaying the bus stops and as Bucky gets close, Steve gets up and heads for the door and steps into his shoes, not interrupting his story.

He heads outside and waits by the bus stop, continuing his story. He’s not quite finished his current story—about how their school had adopted Peaches the dog for several weeks when they were in sixth grade—when the bus pulls up.

Bucky gets out. He’s got his jacket on and the hood of his sweater pulled up. His cap is pulled low and he’s wearing his sunglasses. Steve can barely see his face.

Steve hangs up his phone and stuffs it into his pocket. He steps up to Bucky, gently pulls the phone out of his hand and snaps it shut, then he pulls Bucky into his arms and holds him tight. The bus pulls away from them, leaving them alone on the sidewalk.

Bucky clutches him like he’s drowning.

“It’s okay, Buck. You made it. I’m so proud of you. You’re gonna be okay,” Steve murmurs. He gently releases Bucky and takes hold of his right hand. He starts heading towards the apartment, squeezing Bucky’s hand tight.

“Come on, I’ll make you some hot cocoa and we’ll snuggle in bed. We’re gonna do nothing but futz around for the rest of the day.”

As they’re approaching their building, Bucky gives his hand a shake to get his attention.

“What happened with Peaches?” he asks quietly.

Steve shots him a grin over his shoulder and resumes the story. Apparently it’s one of the stories Bucky doesn’t seem to remember, but that’s okay.

*             *             *

Steve grabs his sketchpad and pencil case on his way to Bucky’s room while Bucky carries their mugs of hot chocolate. They both change into comfortable shirts and sweatpants and snuggle into bed, pulling the blankets up over them.

Steve leans against the headboard with his sketchpad on his right leg and Bucky settles with his head on his left thigh.

“Any requests, Buck?” He gently pulls out the yellow elastic holding Bucky’s hair back, tosses it on the bedside table and cards his hand through Bucky’s hair. He feels Bucky slowly starting to relax.

Bucky’s quiet for a moment. Then: “Can you draw you and Peaches together?”

“Like when I was feeding her half of my lunch?”

Bucky nods.

“Sure!”

“Then I can put it on my wall.”

“Absolutely.”

Steve starts working on the sketch, drawing with one hand while the other continues gently combing through Bucky’s hair.

He draws himself crouching on the classroom floor, holding out the piece of bread he had torn off from his lunch, the small, skinny dog creeping towards the offering from the small, skinny boy. He draws Bucky standing behind him, bent over with his hands on his knees, encouraging the dog to come forward. They’re both wearing their school uniforms. He adds a few of the school desks and chairs around them and includes the corner of the blackboard behind Bucky.

Bucky gradually relaxes a bit more and sits up briefly to drink from his hot chocolate. He hands Steve his cup; Steve pauses sketching to drink some and hands the cup back to Bucky. “Thanks, Buck.”

Then Bucky lies back down and sprawls over Steve, burying his face in his stomach and wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Comfy?”

Bucky grunts a reply, rubbing his cheek on Steve’s shirt. He lies still while Steve keeps drawing, Bucky’s eyes watching the memory taking shape on the paper. He only shifts from time to time in order to nudge the sketchpad into a better position when Steve has shifted it out of his view.

Steve finishes the sketch, putting today’s date and also the approximate year of the sketch—he thinks this one must have taken place in 1929 or thereabouts—then gently tears it out of his sketchpad and lays it on the bedside table.

“All done. You got any frames left?”

“Yeah. Down in the storage.”

“Okay. We’ll get one later.” Steve closes his sketch pad and tosses it and the pencils on the table. He picks up his hot chocolate and takes a few more sips.

Bucky shifts around, pushing himself up enough to kiss Steve’s neck before he collapses back down with a content sigh. “Thanks, Stevie. It’s beautiful.”

Steve smiles and rubs his back. “You’re welcome.”

They bask in silence, Steve sipping at his hot chocolate, his other hand rubbing Bucky’s back.

“Rogers, you wanna come babysit me during my next appointment?”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be, Barnes. It’ll be a gas.”

“That’s what I thought. You just can’t get enough of my sparkling personality.”

“I’m not sure if sparkling is the right word for it. Obnoxious? Annoying?”

“Shut your mouth, punk.”

“You shut yours, jerk. When’s the next appointment?”

“Thursday at 2.”

“We’ll grab the 1:30 bus.”

“Okay. Go make me dinner, Rogers.”

“Seeing how you’re sprawled on top of me, that’s not gonna happen until you decide to move.”

“But I’m very comfortable.”

“Then I guess no food for you.”

Bucky lets out an annoyed huff and moves himself off Steve, immediately sprawling on his pillow. “There. Now you can get up.”

“You’re too kind. You wanna eat here in bed?”

“Yes, please.”

“Oh, now he says please. You couldn’t remember the word earlier, huh?”

“After dinner, I’ll make up for it, I promise.”

“James Buchanan Barnes, you can’t sweet-talk your way out of your own rudeness.”

“The hell I can’t. Hey, Stevie?”

“What?”

“You’re a peach.”

Steve laughs all the way to the kitchen.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: There is a minor domestic violence incident that takes place in this chapter. Please refer to the note at the end of the chapter if you require more details.

Bucky mistakenly assumes that the next therapy appointment will be easier than the first. By which, he assumes he won’t dissolve into tears within the first 10 minutes and sob most of the way through the session.

That isn’t the case.

But unlike last time, Steve is there to greet Bucky when he’s done. He immediately pulls Bucky into his arms and leads them out of the building. They had ridden Steve’s motorcycle over so Bucky just has to put on his helmet, bury his face into Steve’s back and hold on.

When they get home, they curl up in bed and pick a soothing activity to do until Bucky has calmed down. Mostly Steve will sketch something, or he’ll pull up whatever book they’re making their way through on his e-reader and read out loud. They’re currently on the fourth Harry Potter book.

It’s after the second appointment that Steve reminds Bucky that he doesn’t need to keep going to therapy if he doesn’t want to go.

“It’s fine, Steve. I like it.”

Steve looks dubious. “You don’t exactly look like you’re having a great time whenever the sessions are done.”

“That’s the thing—the crying’s the point.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“No, just listen. I know it looks horrible, but talking about those things and letting myself cry over them, it makes me feel so much better afterwards.”

Steve still looks unsure about the whole thing. “Alright. If it’s helping, then okay. I just wanna make sure it’s not too much.”

“It’s not. Sometimes she asks me things that I don’t wanna talk about and when I tell her I don’t wanna discuss those things, she moves on real quick. She’s really nice, Steve. Don’t worry. It really does help.”

It really does. Bucky doesn’t understand why, but just getting to talk about some of the horrible things in his head with someone and having that person sympathize with him is very soothing. It feels like every word he lets out of his mouth is a brick he’s lifting off his back and putting on the floor.

He knows he could easily have the same thing with Steve, but he absolutely refuses to burden Steve with some of the things he tells Jemisha.

They talk about his nightmares, specifically the details he doesn’t share with Steve. In his nightmares, he’ll relive parts of missions he’d been sent on. The details such as when and where the missions took place are never clear, never mind why he was sent after the targets. But without fail, at the end of each mission, after he pulled a trigger or snapped a neck or slit a throat, he’d feel a surge of satisfaction.

Pride.

A sense of accomplishment.

Like a child who managed to tie their shoes by themselves.

He looked forward to getting back to base and having his handlers smile at him and give him a gentle tap on the cheek for a job well done.

He feels sick at himself for having those feelings. He’d killed somebody, and all he felt was pride that he’d done a good job. Moments after the killing was done, he’d stop thinking about the person he’d killed and instead, he’d feel a rush of excitement at the thought of giving his handlers a successful mission report.

Jemisha explains that it’s entirely normal for him to feel that way. It’s a conditioned response they had trained into him. They had tortured, hurt and brutalized him to such an extreme that he became desperate for any act of kindness, no matter how that kindness came about. The fact that he’d killed somebody hadn’t really registered in his head—he just wanted to do whatever was needed to get that kindness.

That’s exactly how Hydra had wanted him to behave and think.

It doesn’t mean he’s a bad person, according to Jemisha.

He also tells Jemisha that in a weird way, he’s grateful to Hydra for keeping him alive. Never mind fate, destiny, whatever people wanted to call it. The fact was, if Hydra hadn’t worked so hard at keeping him alive, he’d never have lived long enough to see 2014, which means he would have never been reunited with Steve.

It’s crazy enough that Steve and him had been reunited after losing each other 70 years earlier—and the number of factors that have aligned in order for that to have happened are staggering—but the fact that Hydra was a huge part of that is even crazier.

Jemisha informs him that it’s perfectly alright for him to feel that way. Certainly their situation is unusual, but it’s fairly common for captors to provide their victims with some benefits—money, housing, or in Bucky’s case, longevity; and it’s up to the victims to decide how they feel about those benefits.

He knows Steve would feel conflicted if Bucky brought this up, so it’s another one of those things he only shares with Jemisha. Bucky decides he likes Jemisha.

He also doesn’t tell Steve about his first few months in captivity.

He always tells Steve that he only remembers vague flashes from a few days before the train, up until his assignments started. He lets Steve believe that the constant mind wipes had destroyed most of those memories.

That’s a lie. A necessary lie, but a lie.

He does remember falling from the train.

He remembers seeing Steve’s terrified face, arm outstretched towards him, his mouth moving as he screams something at Bucky, the words snatched away by the howling wind. He remembers feeling the bar loosening and realizing that he’s about to fall, his heart pounding and sick fear squeezing his throat. He remembers feeling completely terrified as the reality of the situation hits him. Seconds later, the bar tears loose and he’s falling, watching Steve growing smaller and smaller as he plummets through the freezing air.

He doesn’t remember hitting the ground or how he ended up being found by Hydra.

He does remember a fair amount of the next few months, before the conditioning and torture started having their desired effect.

They had patched him up when they first found him. They’d cut off the mangled remains of his arm, leaving a small portion of his upper arm behind. He remembers the jolt of terror that ran through him when he’d looked down at himself and seen what was left of his arm. At least they had ensured he hadn’t died from infection. Once he was medically stable, he was brought to a cell and left there.

There was nothing in the cell except for a bucket, which he used to relieve himself. Somebody came by once a day to shove a tray of slop and cup of water through an opening in the door. He’d have to pass the bucket through to get it emptied and then get it handed back to him.

At first, he’d eaten and drank regularly, keeping up his strength, sure that a rescue would be coming soon. He was also certain that they’d start interrogating him soon—wanting info about the Allies plans no doubt—so he mentally prepared himself for that, knowing the safety of the entire Allied front (and the Howlies, and especially Steve) rested in his ability to withstand whatever they threw at him. He went through all of the techniques they had been taught in basic training on interrogation resistance, and did his best to remain focused and not let hysteria overwhelm him. He kept track of the days by using the metal handle on the cup to carve into the cement wall of the cell. He repeated his name, rank, serial number to himself. He went through mundane lists in his head—the names of the people in the 107th, the names of all current and former Dodgers players, anything to keep his mind focused.

Weeks went by. The silence was starting to get to him. He’d run out of things to list. Nobody had entered his cell. Nobody had spoken to him. Nobody seemed to want to question him about anything. He wasn’t too upset about the lack of questioning, but it did bring up the question of why the hell they had bothered taking him and healing him if they weren’t going to use him as a source of information. He started getting annoyed at how long rescue was taking. He started talking out loud, just to have something to listen to. He’d complain about anything and everything. He’d recite bits of poetry he remembered from school and sang all the songs he knew.

When two months had gone by, he was spending more time complaining than singing. He was getting pissed. They had to be keeping him somewhere near where he’d fallen. They couldn’t have transported him very far in the shape he’d been in when they found him and they hadn’t moved him since. It shouldn’t be so damn difficult to find him.

At that point, he hadn’t known who had taken him or why, but he thought they must be playing hard ball and had extremely good defenses to keep the Howlies at bay.

That’s when he decided to stop cooperating. He refused to eat or drink, shoving the tray back at the faceless, silent person on the other side of the slot. He grabbed the bucket and hurled it through the slot, making sure the contents sprayed whoever was on the other side of the door. He screamed and swore, telling them to hurry the hell up and do whatever it was they wanted with him. What was the point of keeping him endlessly locked up?

His tantrum lasted a few more days until he started getting too weak to put up much of a fight. That’s when they came in. Bucky silently celebrated the fact that they’d be moving this whole thing along, but that wasn’t the case.

Two people entered his cell, wearing masks to hide their identities and carrying some medical equipment. They easily overpowered him and put him into restraints. They shoved a feeding tube up his nose and down into his stomach and an IV into his arm. The message was clear: if he wasn’t going to feed or hydrate himself, they would do it for him.

Once they were finished, they left.

They hadn’t said a word to him.

The next day, the process was repeated when he again stubbornly refused the tray being pushed through the slot.

The day after, Bucky stood at the door, staring at the tray as it was slid in. He put a foot on the edge of it, knowing the person on the other side was bracing themselves to have it shoved back.

But what was the point? It was clear his temper tantrum had zero effect on his captors. And having the feeding tube shoved down his throat hurt.

He pulled the tray towards himself. The slot was slammed shut. He ate his slop and drank his water.

By the time he’d spent five months locked up in his empty cell, not having heard a single human voice other than his own and feeling the stubble on his face becoming a full beard, he slowly started doubting that rescue would be coming.

It was getting harder and harder to stay positive and he spent days enveloped in dark hopelessness.

On the worst days, he wouldn’t be able to stop the tears from coming and he’d sit in a corner, tears streaming down his filthy face, soaking his beard.

“Stevie, I wanna go home. Stevie, please come get me. I don’t care what they want in exchange, please, come get me,” he’d whisper, sobbing at the desperate squeeze in his chest. He was tired of this whole thing. He was tired of this cell, of this war, of humanity in general. He wanted to go home to Brooklyn with Steve. He wanted to go back to their broken, drafty apartment and curl up behind Steve on the rickety bed in the winter, propping his chin on Steve’s shoulder to watch him sketching.

“I hate being here, Stevie. Please come get me. Please, please, _please_.”

It was around the seven month mark that they started changing things. They would flood his cell with flashing lights and loud noises at random times, not allowing him to get sufficient sleep. They’d send in goons who’d beat him for no apparent reason, never speaking to him. Then they’d leave him alone again for days or weeks at a time.

He’d curl up on the filthy floor, nursing his broken, aching body, wrapping his thin arms around himself in an attempt to mimic the feeling of Steve hugging him.

“Please come get me, Stevie. Please, please, please,” he’d sob into the cold floor, utterly exhausted.

On some days, he’d be so dazed and exhausted that he’d just lie wherever they tossed him. He’d barely register the flashing lights and the noise. He’d just lie there, blinking, not a thought in his head. He wouldn’t feel sad. He wouldn’t feel angry. He wouldn’t feel hopeless.

He wouldn’t feel anything.

He wouldn’t spend hours crying for Steve or for home.

Those days started becoming more and more frequent.

Bucky remembers one day he’d lain there, muttering Steve’s name, but not really knowing why he was muttering Steve’s name and what Steve had to do with his current situation. But saying Steve’s name was somehow comforting, so he kept saying it.

A few months later, he was too exhausted to keep saying Steve’s name, seeing how he couldn’t remember why he was doing it.

So he stopped.

That was when they’d deemed him ready for the conditioning to start.

Bucky doesn’t remember much of his training and conditioning, but the details of those first few months are clear.

These are the things he absolutely never wants Steve to find out about. He knows Steve would feel guilty and utterly devastated. Knowing Hydra hurt him was one thing, but to know that Bucky spent weeks pleading for—and _expecting_ —Steve to come rescue him would probably break his heart.

Bucky knows Steve knows the details of Hydra’s other torture methods, but he’d always been grateful that Hydra never bothered keeping detailed records of those first few months of his captivity so he can spare Steve.

It’s better telling Jemisha and sobbing his way through the story, and spare Steve that pain.

And telling Jemisha really does help. He’s careful to keep some details vague—he doesn’t tell her which war he had fought in and adjusts the timeline when discussing his missions. He never mentions Hydra by name and keeps Steve’s involvement to a minimum, not wanting her to connect any of the dots. He doesn’t want her to know anything that might make her a target for Hydra.

He knows she must be curious—she knows who Steve is and his history—and she’s not a stupid woman, but thankfully, she doesn’t seem interested in connecting the dots. Her main priority is helping Bucky.

It’s immensely cathartic to tell somebody these things, not having to worry about hurting their feelings or breaking their hearts.

He explains to Steve that every tear he sheds during therapy makes him feel lighter. Happier. Liberated.

Steve still seems skeptical about the whole thing, but Bucky is having fewer nightmares and spends more time laughing at things, so nobody can argue with the results.

So once or twice a week, they jump on Steve’s bike and they go see Jemisha, and when they get home, they spend the rest of the day curled up together in bed.

It’s exactly like Bucky had dreamed about for all those months in his cell.

They’re in Washington, not Brooklyn, but he finds it doesn’t make any difference.

Home is wherever Steve Rogers is.

*             *             *

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. It’ll be fine, Stevie. I promise.”

“I don’t mind driving you, you know that.”

“I know. But the last few sessions, I’ve been fine and I know you don’t mind coming with me, but there are tons of better things you can be doing with that time.”

Steve looks at him for a long moment. Bucky assumes it’s because he’s trying to determine if Bucky’s just being a martyr. “This ain’t some folly, I promise. Jemisha tells me ahead of time what she wants to discuss at the next session, and by now, I can pretty much judge whether I’m gonna need support or not.”

“You’ll have your phone with you, right?”

“Of course. And yes, obviously, I’ll call if I need you. I promise.”

Bucky grins at him. Steve gives him a thin smile in return. Bucky assumes Steve’s still worried whether or not Bucky’s bitten off more than he can chew, but he knows he’ll be okay. Within a few sessions, Steve will see that too.

*             *             *

Steve’s heart plummets when Bucky announces that he’ll be okay going to his therapy sessions on his own. He knows it’s stupid and he shouldn’t be feeling anything but pride at the huge progress Bucky is making.

But because he’s a selfish, needy idiot, he mainly feels sad. He knows Bucky is taking another step towards recovery, which is another step away from Steve.

And he hates being reminded of it.

He tries to put on an encouraging smile and he thinks he pulls it off, because Bucky turns back to the computer in his lap and drops the subject.

Steve makes an excuse about being tired and heads to bed early. Bucky seems a bit taken aback—it’s barely 7 pm—but doesn’t stop him.

Steve goes through the motions of getting ready for bed and then curls up in bed, forcing back tears. He doesn’t close his bedroom door—not wanting Bucky to know he’s upset—but at the same time, he doesn’t want Bucky hearing him so he forces himself to stay quiet.

*             *             *

As the days go by, they continue on their paths apart from each other.

Bucky attends two therapy sessions all by himself and he’s smiling before and after each session.

Steve walks Bucky to the bus stop, then sits on the couch being a horrible and selfish asshole and hoping that the phone will ring with Bucky needing his help.

The phone doesn’t ring. Instead, Bucky walks through the door after each successful session and Steve puts a smile on his face, hating himself as he struggles to hide his bitter disappointment.

It isn’t just the therapy sessions that are annoying Steve. Bucky becomes more and more comfortable being out and about in the town, going shopping by himself and chatting to their neighbors and random people in stores.

More and more of the old Bucky Barnes is coming back. And Steve hates it. And he hates himself for hating it.

He hates that he misses the helpless, frightened Bucky who had hidden behind the chair by the television.

One afternoon, Bucky’s puttering around in the living room, pulling on a sweater and tightening the elastic in his hair, chattering about taking somebody’s dog for a walk.

“You wanna come? You haven’t seen Suzy in a while—she misses you.”

“No, thanks,” Steve mutters, staring at the television without caring about what’s actually playing. He starts feeling annoyed. He needs Bucky to get the hell out of the apartment before he loses his temper.

“You sure? You’ve been cooped up in here for a couple days, pal. Come on. The exercise will do you good.”

“No. Thanks,” he says, a bit more curtly.

“Fine. If Alina has cookies, do you want me to bring you some?”

Steve stifles an annoyed sigh at the never ending conversation. “Who’s Alina?”

Bucky snorts in amusement. “Who’s Alina? She’s our neighbor, knucklehead. She also happens to be Suzy’s owner. Tiny Bulgarian woman, in her seventies? Always pinches cheeks? You didn’t see her the last time we took Suzy out?”

“No.”

“You’ve met her before though, right?”

Steve clenches his jaw, his grip tightening on the remote control in his hand. “No.”

He has no idea why he’s becoming enraged by this conversation, but he absolutely is.

“Are you kidding me, Rogers? You’ve lived here for nearly three years and you’ve never met Alina?”

Steve has had enough. He hears the remote casing crack in his fist. “Maybe it’s because I don’t care about an old Bulgarian woman who happens to live in the same damn building as me!”

He sees Bucky freeze out of the corner of his eye, in the middle of stepping into his boots.

“What the hell brought on this snit, huh?”

“I’m not having a damn snit!”

“I was talking about walking an old lady’s dog and you get hacked off like I said I’m off to walk Hitler’s dog. What the hell, Rogers?”

“Just get the hell out of here and walk the stupid dog!”

“Not until you explain what the hell crawled up your ass. I told you, if you’re having a bad day that’s fine, but don’t take it out on me and especially don’t start insulting other people.”

Steve pushes himself up, enraged. “I can take it out on whomever the hell I want, Barnes!”

“No, you can’t, Rogers. Sit your ass back on the couch and calm down!”

“Fuck you!”

“You’re being a complete asshole.”

“Seeing how this is my apartment, I get to be whatever the hell I want in it.”

“Your apartment, huh?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you suddenly start helping me pay bills? No? Then, yes, it’s my damn apartment. You don’t like it, you don’t have to be here. Lord knows I don’t need a squatter.”

“Don’t you start with that, Rogers. Don’t you _dare_ start! You want us to sit down and figure out who owes who more money? Really? You wanna start in on that?” Bucky’s yelling now too.

“Fuck you!”

“Because believe me, if we start keeping track of who has needed who more over the years, I promise you, you’re not gonna win that one!”

Steve throws the remote control right at Bucky’s head. It’s only Bucky’s quick reflexes that prevent him from being hit in the face. The remote smashes into the wall behind him, pieces of plastic flying in all directions.

“Get out!”

Bucky’s jaw tightens. “Gladly. Give me ten minutes to grab my stuff—”

“Your stuff?! You mean my stuff that I let you borrow, and my stuff that I bought with _my_ money?”

Bucky glares at him. “Asshole.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his keys and tosses them on the counter. His phone, wallet and his sunglasses follow.

Then they stand, glaring at each other. Steve knows Bucky’s waiting for him to break, but he refuses. He crosses his arms over his chest and jerks his chin towards the door.

“You know where the door is,” he says. “Use it.”

Bucky shots him another glare before turning and heading straight for the door. He wrenches it open, storms through and slams it shut behind him.

Steve listens as he stomps down the hallway before his footsteps fade.

Still mad, Steve goes into the kitchen, grabs a garbage bag and heads into Bucky’s room. He starts ruthlessly yanking clothes out of the closet and jamming them in the bag. Then he sweeps everything from the small bedside table into the bag and goes around the room, yanking the picture frames off the walls. Everything is crammed into the bag. He brings it into the bathroom and tosses Bucky’s toothbrush, razor and other things into it. He marches around the entire apartment, cramming everything that had been designated as being Bucky’s into the bag.

Then he ties it up and dumps it by the front door. He’ll take it out to the dumpster later.

Satisfied, he goes back to the couch and sits down. The episode he’d been watching is finished. He gropes around for the remote to start another one but when his hands come up empty, he remembers what had happened with the remote.

Whatever. He’ll get another one.

It wasn’t a problem. Nothing is a problem anymore.

Because now life has returned to what he knew it would eventually end up as. But instead of being dumped by Bucky like a pathetic helpless puppy, he’d been the one to dump Bucky.

“Good job, Rogers,” he says.

He’s dodged a bullet, that’s for sure.

*             *             *

An hour later, his anger has faded.

That’s when he remembers that Bucky literally has nothing with him except the clothes on his back. No wallet meant no money to buy food or water with. No phone meant he couldn’t contact anybody for help. He’d literally torn away all of his best friend’s belongings and resources, leaving him homeless and helpless.

Shit. What the hell had he done?

He knows that Bucky can revert to the survival techniques he’d used when he’d spent months on his own before Steve had taken him home.

But that means scavenging for food in garbage cans. That means sleeping behind dumpsters in cold alleyways. That means being exposed to the rain and the cold. That means finding weapons to hide under his sleeves so he can protect himself if he’s attacked.

Lord, this wasn’t what Steve had wanted at all. Whenever he had thought about how Bucky’s leaving would look, he always thought it would involve Bucky having his own apartment ready for him to move into, packing suitcases with all of his stuff, having his own bank account and credit cards, having a job that filled that bank account with money, and tons of new friends who would support him.

Not being thrown out onto the streets with only the clothes on his back.

Panic setting in, Steve stumbles off the couch, grabs Bucky’s keys from the counter, throws his shoes on and hurries out of the apartment.

A small part of him is hoping that Bucky realized that Steve was being an idiot and he’ll be waiting in the stairwell.

But the stairwells are all empty.

Maybe he’s sitting out on the stoop, having gone outside and then gotten stuck out there since he didn’t have his keys—but the stoop is also deserted when Steve gets there.

He starts jogging up and down their block and the neighboring streets, frantically staring at everybody he sees. By the time he realizes that Bucky has definitely left the area, it’s already dusk.

He runs back to the apartment, grabs his wallet, phone, jacket, and motorcycle helmet and hurries down to his bike. He starts driving around the neighborhood, slowing down and staring at every pedestrian he sees. He rides down alleyways and peers into the few convenience stores that are still open, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bucky.

He runs out of gas and has to go fuel up before he’s back on his search, riding around, growing more anxious as time passes. The nights are cold now and it starts lightly snowing, making Steve shiver in the thin jacket he’d thrown on. His gloveless hands are completely numb and the darkness makes it difficult to distinguish between people and shadows.

He’s wet, cold and absolutely beside himself with guilt. He’d literally thrown Bucky out into this weather because of his own stupidity and insecurity.

He has trouble keeping the tears at bay and has to pull over a few times to get a hold of himself before continuing.

Hours later and having had no luck finding Bucky, he’s ready to give up. He’s exhausted, numb with cold and he’s afraid he’s going to crash his bike if he keeps it up. He also realizes he’s spent so much time looking at the people that he has no idea where he is.

He pulls out his phone and stares at it. He knows the phone can tell him where he is and how to get home but he has no idea how to make it do that.

He defaults to what he usually does when he’s feeling overwhelmed in this world.

Well, the second thing. The first thing he defaults to is getting a hold of Bucky, which is part of the current problem.

His second default is Sam.

He pulls over and turns off the bike, getting off and shuffling under the nearby awning of a store to get himself out of the falling snow for a few minutes. He presses Sam’s number on his phone and listens to it ring.

“Hello?”

“Sam. It’s Steve. I’m so sorry about calling so late—”

“Hey, man. It’s okay. Are you alright?”

Steve feels tears clogging up his throat. “Sam, I did a terrible thing. I’m such a—I did a terrible thing.”

Sam sighs. “Yeah, you did. But it sounds like you’ve calmed down and you regret having lost your temper, so I think we’re on the road to recovery.”

Steve pauses. “How—how do you know that?”

“I have a new house guest.”

“You—you—Bucky’s there? With you? He’s there?”

“Yes. James Buchanan Barnes is sitting in my living room, currently glaring at my television and not too happy that I told you, but I’m not going to start lying to either one of you. Not my style. I was gonna call you tomorrow morning to let you know that he’s here.”

A rush of relief nearly makes Steve collapse on the sidewalk. “So he’s okay? He’s safe and warm?”

“Uhm, yes, he’s safe, and I hope if he were cold, he’d tell me, so…”

A relieved sob makes it out of Steve’s mouth before he can catch it. “Okay.” He takes a shuddering breath. “Okay.”

“Are you okay, man?”

Right. While Bucky was alright, Steve’s other problem still remains. “Not really. I don’t know where I am and I don’t know how to get the phone to help me.”

“You’re outside?” Sam sounds concerned.

“Yeah, I went riding around.”

“Looking for James?”

Steve nods. Then he realizes that Sam can’t see him. “Yeah. I—I—was worried.”

“Alright, put me on speaker and I’ll talk you through how to pull up maps on your phone.”

Steve does as he’s told and follows Sam’s instructions until he’s staring at a map with a blinking blue dot, with a blue line connecting him from the blinking dot to his apartment.

Once Sam is reassured that Steve can make it home, they hang up, Steve promising Sam to call him when he gets to his apartment. He follows the blue path back home and hurries up to his apartment. When he steps into the dark apartment, he nearly trips over the large garbage bag sitting by the door.

He’s such an idiot.

He dutifully calls Sam. “I made it. Thank you.”

“Okay, good. Listen, try to get some sleep then call me tomorrow and we’ll chat some more.”

“Does—does Bucky want his stuff?” Steve asks.

“Tomorrow, Steve. We’ll talk about this tomorrow. You need to get into dry clothes and calm down.”

Steve nods.

He hears something in the background, followed by Sam mumbling something in reply. Then he comes back on the phone. “James wants me to tell you that he’s stayed safe, dry and warm the entire evening and he expects you to do the same. No more driving around in the dark when it’s snowing.”

It feels kind of like getting shot. Bucky truly doesn’t need Steve anymore. Instead, Steve is the one who can’t take care of himself.

“Okay. I promise.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

As if Steve hadn’t embarrassed himself enough tonight. “Yeah. Sure. Good night, Sam.”

“Night, Steve.”

*             *             *

Steve barely gets any sleep and anxiously keeps peering at his phone on his bedside table, waiting for Sam to call.

He gets out of bed at the crack of dawn and goes to sit on the couch with his phone. He’s a bundle of nerves. He wants to apologize and beg Bucky to come back. He’ll help Bucky get everything properly set up and let him leave on his own time. Letting Bucky dump him is preferable to feeling this enormous guilt over having been the one to dump him.

But on the other hand, does Steve have a right to ask Bucky come back? He said horrible things to him, threw the remote at him and kicked him out in the middle of winter.

Maybe having Bucky stay with Sam until he’s ready to move out on his own would be the best. Steve doesn’t deserve to have Bucky staying with him.

The phone rings and Steve immediately answers. “Hi.”

“Morning, sunshine. How you doing?” It’s Sam. Steve swallows his disappointment that Bucky wasn’t the one who called him. He’s probably still angry.

“How’s Bucky?”

“He’s fine. He’s making me pancakes.”

“What—what’s gonna happen?”

Sam is quiet for a moment. Steve waits, his heart in his throat. “James needs some time. Yesterday rattled him and he wants some space.”

Bucky must have come to the realization that Steve no longer deserves to have Bucky around.

Steve has never deserved to have Bucky around him and yesterday proved it.

Steve’s earlier plan of begging Bucky to come back, even if it’s just temporary, evaporates. He has no right to ask such a thing.

“Okay. I understand. Does he want any of his stuff?”

“Just his phone.”

“Okay. I can bring it by the VA today if you’re there.”

“Sure. Bring it by around 2.”

Steve hears something in the background. Then he hears Sam sigh. “James wants you to know that he’s keeping track of how much the phone cost and how many minutes he’s purchased. He’ll pay you back once he starts working somewhere.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut. “Tell him it’s his phone. I bought it for him as a gift. And tell him I’m buying minutes for the phone as long as he lives, even when he gets a job. That’s part of it being a gift. I’ll drop off a credit card with the phone. He should use that to keep buying minutes as long as he wants.”

Then Steve hangs up before he does something ridiculous like beg Bucky to change his mind.

He has no right to do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning (details): Steve loses his temper during an argument with Bucky and throws the TV remote control at him, which Bucky dodges.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a very small reference to a non-canon past suicide attempt. No details are provided, only reference is made to the event.

A week later, Steve has reverted to living the way he’d been living before Bucky had re-entered his life.

He does manage to pick up the shattered pieces of the remote from the floor and tape it back together.

He doesn’t manage to make any progress on fixing himself.

He eats cereal, toast and whatever canned item he pulls out of the pantry. He’s grateful that he barely has an appetite—it means he doesn’t have to think about going shopping for more food for a while. He leaves the dirty bowls and empty cans wherever he happens to put them. Taking out the trash or washing dishes is too exhausting to even consider. Besides, there isn’t anybody living with him anymore. He doesn’t care if he lives in filth so why bother?

He stares at the television for hours on end without any regard for what he’s watching. Episodes of the house hunting show pile up on the recording device, but just the thought of watching any of them make him want to cry, so he lets them sit there.

He has no interest in looking at the cooking forums, and he scrolls through his twitter feed listlessly without actually caring what’s written in the tweets.

He spends his nights sleeping in Bucky’s room with his face pressed against his pillow, breathing in Bucky’s scent. After a few nights, he notices that the smell is getting fainter and he realizes that eventually it will fade.

It makes him remember the last time he’d been grieving over losing Bucky.

He didn’t sleep for two days after Bucky fell. After nearly breaking his neck falling into a ditch, Peggy had ordered him to get sleep. He’d lain on his bedroll, wide awake, crying too hard to sleep and clutching Bucky’s pack to his chest.

When he’d exhausted himself, he realized how nice it was to have Bucky’s scent so close. So he’d dug through the pack and pulled out one of Bucky’s shirts. The only way he could fall asleep was when the shirt was on the pillow next to him. Then somebody had come and told him they were taking Bucky’s things and shipping them home to his family. He’d managed to keep two shirts.

Both shirts eventually lost Bucky’s scent.

Five days after the scent had completely faded, he went into the ice.

When that hadn’t worked as permanently as he had hoped, he’d tried again in that half empty apartment in New York after the stupid ticket incident—

No, he refuses to let himself think about that.

He knows exactly where dwelling on those thoughts will lead him.

And this is not the time for such drastic measures.

Technically, Bucky’s isn’t dead and there’s still a tiny chance that he’ll agree to be acquaintances with Steve. Not friends—Steve doesn’t deserve that—but maybe casual acquaintances.

Steve would accept that offer in a heartbeat.

That means it’s not the time for drastic measures.

Not yet.

So he’ll keep trying.

On day four, he takes Bucky’s things out of the garbage bag and puts them in a plastic bin, carefully wrapping the picture frames and other fragile things in paper towels.

When he’s folding up Bucky’s clothes, he pauses and texts Sam. He has no idea if Bucky will want any of these things after the way Steve ripped them away from him—literally and metaphorically—but he’s determined to make the effort.

_Can I bring some of Bucky’s things to the VA tomorrow?_

He receives a reply of ‘ _Sure, around noon_ ’ a few minutes later.

Steve carefully puts most of Bucky’s clothes and toiletries into a suitcase. He has a stern argument with himself, telling himself that he has no right to keep any of Bucky’s things, but then he can’t help himself and takes one of Bucky’s shirts. He won’t be a fool this time—he tightly wraps it up in multiple plastic bags so the smell will stay as long as possible. He’ll have to ration it out carefully.

He also puts Bucky’s green Hulk slippers and his bike helmet into the suitcase and then debates which pictures Bucky might want. The Barnes family portrait that he’d sketched is obvious, along with the sketch of Bucky’s mother, so those go into the suitcase. His hand hesitates over the sketch of Peaches the dog in their old classroom that he’d drawn after Bucky’s first day of therapy. He nearly slides it into the suitcase, until he realizes that Bucky might not want a picture with Steve in it. So he gets up and goes to the hallway where the sketch of Bucky in his military uniform is hanging. He gently unhooks it and stares at it. Bucky grins cockily back at him.

He sighs softly. “I miss you so much, buddy.”

He can’t help but run his fingers over Bucky’s face. He kisses the tips of his fingers and lightly presses them against the picture—saying goodbye to the picture and the man depicted in it.

While he’s wandering around, he takes down half of the old New York pictures—including the Coney Island Cyclone picture that is secretly Steve’s favourite—and adds those to the pile.

Satisfied, he closes the suitcase and brings it to the VA. He tells Sam that he’ll bring Bucky’s bike the next day, but Sam tells him to hold off for a little while. Sam gets a weird pinched look on his face when he sees the size of the suitcase but takes it from him.

Then Steve goes back to sitting on the couch, doing nothing and feeling nothing.

*             *             *

Bucky waits in the stairwell, keeping out of Steve’s sight until Steve has left the VA. Once the doors swing shut behind him, he steps back into the hallway and goes into Sam’s office.

Sam nods his chin towards the suitcase in the corner. “That’s for you.”

“Jesus. Did he pack half of the apartment up?”

“He wanted to bring your bike but I told him to wait.”

Bucky glares at the suitcase. What an idiot. “I can’t believe he thinks I’m not going back. Christ, I just need some space.”

Sam sighs. “You gotta remember that Steve hasn’t had a lot of long term relationships with people over the past few years. He doesn’t know how these things work. Besides, his brain’s probably running away with crazy thoughts and he’s just going along for the ride.”

Bucky scowls and picks up the suitcase to take it back to Sam’s place.

He can’t believe it when he’d opens the suitcase and sees the picture of him in his uniform, and the old photo of the Cyclone. He knows those are Steve’s favourites. He pulls out the other pictures and digs through the clothes and other things, curious to see which Steve picture he’d included.

His annoyance with the idiot grows when he realizes that Steve hadn’t included a single picture of himself.

Apparently Steve has given up on them. He’s in love with an idiot.

*             *             *

On day eight, Steve decides he doesn’t want to spend another day sitting on his couch and he decides to go back to the only place that had ever made him feel good before Bucky.

He gets on his bike and heads over to the museum.

He makes his way upstairs to the Captain America exhibit and sits on his bench. He realizes he hasn’t been back here in months. Bucky and he had only come to the museum a handful of times since living together, mainly as an educational exercise for Bucky to catch up with things. They hadn’t come to the Captain America exhibit at all.

Steve sits and stares at Bucky’s picture etched into the glass display.

“You were always too good for me, pal. It’s about time you left me behind,” he whispers.

The Bucky in the glass smiles at him, as if he’s agreeing.

He looks across the exhibit to the Howling Commando mannequins. He desperately wishes he could go back to that day on the train.

He’d save Bucky, and then hopefully find some heroic way to die before the war ended. He’d die knowing Bucky was safe and would go on to marry some amazing woman and have an amazing life. He’d never have to face a world without Bucky. He’d never have to face a world with Bucky in it, but not wanting to be with him, as a friend or otherwise.

He goes down to the cafeteria for lunch and then comes back up until the museum closes.

*             *             *

Bucky shrugs off his jacket and pushes the door of Sam’s apartment shut behind him. He slides his feet into his Hulk slippers and heads towards the kitchen.

Sam’s sitting at the table, doing something on his computer. “Hey roomie. How was today?”

Bucky makes a face as he pours himself a glass of juice. “He went to the museum today. That’s an improvement from sitting on the couch all day, but not much.”

He’s been spending most of his days keeping an eye on their—Steve’s?—apartment, wanting to make sure the idiot’s alright. It’s not difficult. For a week straight, it looked like Steve didn’t leave the apartment except to bring a suitcase of his things to the VA. Bucky hadn’t watched the apartment constantly—he’d gone to his therapy appointment and helped Sam with shopping—but he doubts Steve had ventured outside during those short frames of time.

Today Bucky had been thrilled to see Steve stick his nose outside—only to be less than impressed a few minutes later when it became clear that he was heading to the museum.

“He’s grieving what he thinks is the end of a very important relationship. I think it would be weirder if he were out partying up a storm.”

Bucky drops into a chair across from Sam and scowls at his juice. “It’s not the end of a very important relationship,” he mutters.

Sam stops typing and gives him a long look. Then he shuts the computer lid, a clear sign he wants to Talk. Steve and Bucky talk. Sam and him Talk. Bucky has learned over the past week there’s a distinct difference.

“Have you thought about what you’re gonna do?” Sam’s using his light, neutral therapist voice. Bucky knows that voice by now—Jemisha uses the same one.

“Not really. I want to go back to Steve but I don’t want a repeat of what happened.”

“You don’t have to go back, you know that, right?” It’s almost word for word what Jemisha has told him.

Bucky nods. “Yeah, I know.”

“You don’t owe Steve anything and he’s not the only one who is capable of helping you achieve your goals with your recovery.”

That makes it sound like he doesn’t need Steve for anything. That’s absolutely not true. “I _know_ that. But he’s—he’s my best friend and—and he’s very important to me. I want to be with him. I know I can do it on my own, but that’s never mattered. Just because we can do something on our own don’t mean we gotta be on our own. Besides, I like being with him. He’s an idiot but he’s my idiot, you know?”

Sam nods. “I know. But if you let your feelings for him excuse his behavior, it’s only gonna lead to disaster.”

Bucky rubs a finger down the side of the glass. “He’s always been a little spitfire. Always. I think being the underdog constantly put a chip on his shoulder and he always thought everybody was out to get him or fight him or take something from him. He’s always been a hot head—but nothing like what happened that day. He’s never been nasty and he’s never thrown anything at me before. Well, not with evil intentions.”

Sam sighs softly. “Steve’s not communicating well. His brain isn’t firing right and—”

Bucky frowns. “So? That don’t give him the right to throw stuff at me and chuck me out into the street.”

“Of course it doesn’t. I’m not trying to make excuses, I’m trying to explain. Steve’s brain isn’t firing right and if he doesn’t tell anybody what’s in his head, it makes the anger or the sadness or the whatever build up until it comes out like an explosion—like it did that day. If he doesn’t fix that part of his behavior, this is gonna keep happening.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I won’t let it.”

“James—I know you love him and I know how important he is to you, but just because you want someone to change doesn’t mean—”

Bucky chuckles quietly. “Oh, I know. The idiot won’t do anything different if I just politely suggest it. No, you gotta hit him over the head with a baseball bat.”

Bucky pauses and realizes that may not have been the most appropriate thing to say—judging by Sam’s eyebrows climbing up his forehead.

“Uh, I don’t mean that literally. I’ve never hit him in the head with a baseball bat—well, there was one time, but it was an accident. The nitwit was trying to grab something and I was up for bat and anyway—when I talk to him about it, I’ll lay down the law. He either does whatever he needs to do to avoid explosions like that in the future, or I’m gone. I ain’t gonna let him use me as a punching bag because he’s messed up. I love the kid, but that ain’t what I signed up for.”

Bucky pauses, then smacks a hand on the table. “I think it’s time I chat with a certain Steven Grant Rogers.”

Sam smiles. “Yeah? You gonna call him?”

“Nope. He’s terrible on the phone. He always forgets people can’t see his face and hands when he’s on the phone. I’m gonna find him tomorrow. It’s not like I don’t know where he’s gonna be.” He drains his glass and gets up. “You have any requests for dinner?”

“No, man. Whatever you want to make, go for it.”

*             *             *

The next day, Steve brings his sketchpad and pencils to the museum with him. He sits on his bench and starts drawing Bucky sitting on the couch, the computer in his lap. He realizes that this extra time he’s spent with Bucky has left him with tons of new memories he can sketch and think back on.

He smiles. Regardless of whether he’d deserved to have Bucky in his life these past few months or not, he gets to keep those memories.

He shades in the big Hulk slippers on Bucky’s feet, trying to get the expression on the Hulk’s face right.

“You forgot to put the logo on the computer lid.”

Steve startles, nearly crushing the pencil. He jerks his gaze up, staring at Bucky leaning against the wall next to him. He hadn’t heard him approach at all.

“Jesus, Buck. You scared the life out of me.”

“You look pretty spry to me,” he jokes. He steps around Steve and sits on the bench next to him.

It’s exactly the way they’d sat on this bench months ago before Steve had taken Bucky home to get cleaned up.

Bucky nods his chin at the sketch. “You’d think you’d get tired of drawing me, huh?”

“Never. I’ll stop drawing you when I’m too old to hold a pencil.”

They lapse into silence, Steve fiddling with the pencil. “How’d you know I was here?”

“Didn’t take a genius to figure out. Even if I didn’t know, you’re ridiculously easy to tail. Always have been.”

Steve nods. He has no idea what to say.

“We need to talk,” Bucky says.

Steve opens his mouth but Bucky shakes his head. “Not here. If either of us start yelling, they’re gonna kick us out.”

“Where?”

In response, Bucky stands up and heads out of the exhibit. Steve stuffs the pad and pencil into the black backpack and hurries after him. They head out of the museum and make their way down the sidewalks until they come to a relatively secluded area with a bench. It’s early morning and there aren’t many tourists around yet.

They have a seat and Steve’s mind is blank from anxiety for a moment, until he remembers what he’s been desperately wanting to say to Bucky over the past week.

“Buck, I’m sorry.”

“Steve—”

“No, I have to start with that. No matter what else we say, I want to say I’m really, really sorry for what happened. I had no right to yell like that and I had no right to throw that remote or to make you leave. That’s your home and I had no right to kick you out.”

“Is it?”

“Is what?”

“Is it my home? Or am I a guest?”

Steve sighs. “You are whatever you want to be, Buck. You can stay for the rest of your life, or you don’t ever have to come back if you don’t want.”

Bucky is staring at him. “Where did it come from?”

It seems Bucky is slipping back into that peculiar habit of abrupt conversation changes.

“Where did what come from?”

“We’ve been shacking up on and off since we were kids. Over twenty years. We’ve never had a lot of fights, but whenever we did fight about our living situation we never played the whole ‘who pays for what’ card.”

It’s true. Growing up, Bucky had spent a lot of time living with the Rogers. His three younger sisters made his own home extremely crowded and when the girls got older, it was easier on everyone if Bucky wasn’t constantly home. Once he’d started working, some of his money went to pay for Steve’s medication and other odds and ends but most of his money went to his family. Sarah Rogers had never made a fuss out of having Bucky living with them and sleeping under their roof and eating their food while she was paying the rent and most of the other bills. When they had lived together after his mother had passed away, Bucky had been the main contributor to paying the bills purely due to Steve’s inability to get decent long term work. They fought plenty over who wasn’t eating enough, who was working too much or other stupid things, but money issues never came up.

Steve sighs. “It was stupid. I’m sorry. I don’t care about who pays for what. You were right—if we started counting up how much money we’ve spent on each other and we include the inflation, I could support you for the next two hundred years and still not end up even. It was a stupid thing to bring up. I was mad and it was the first thing that came out of my mouth.”

“Why were you so mad? Did it have anything to do with Suzy? Cause I can stop walking the neighbors’ dogs if it bothers you—I just wanna know why it bothers you.”

“Jesus, Buck, it’s got nothing to do with the dog. You can walk whatever you want, whenever you want.”

“Then what was the problem?”

Steve abruptly shuts his mouth. He doesn’t want to have this conversation with Bucky. It’s bad enough that he lives with the humiliation of never being good enough for this amazing man but to admit it out loud is worse.

Bucky swears quietly and turns on the bench to face Steve. “Rogers, if we’re gonna make this work you _have_ to talk to me. We’ve never had problems telling each other things, so don’t start now.”

Steve stays quiet.

“Sam says we have to communicate more, especially if you don’t wanna talk to a therapist. You have to talk to somebody, Stevie. Otherwise it builds up and explodes and you end up throwing things at me and kicking me out. And I don’t wanna live like that. I refuse to live like that.”

Steve shakes his head. “I can’t talk about it, especially with you.”

Bucky’s staring at him like he has two heads. “I’ve known you your whole life, you knucklehead. What could you possibly have to say that you’d rather have me hacked off at you than tell me?”

 “I don’t wanna talk about it because it’s gonna happen anyway and it hurts to even think about it. And if we talk about it then you’re gonna feel guilty and act dumb and it’ll make the whole mess worse.”

Bucky’s staring at him. “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do! You’re the one who’s gonna be doing the leaving!”

Bucky blinks. “Where am I going?”

Steve scowls. “Don’t patronize me, asshole.”

“Hey, watch that tone, Rogers! I ain’t patronizing you. You’ve had a whole conversation in your head that you assume I was part of. And quit getting angry! Calm down and talk to me. This is _exactly_ what I’m talking about. You’re letting your temper run away with you again.”

Steve takes a deep breath, trying to swallow the lump in his throat enough to talk. The anger fades as quickly as it had gathered and he’s ashamed to feel tears welling up in his eyes. “You’re getting better every single day, and once you’re ready, you’re gonna leave,” he says, his throat tightening. He feels a few tears slide down his face and he angrily brushes them away.

“You’re gonna leave and find real friends and have a real life. The one you deserve. Not this pathetic life in my damn bubble. I know the only reason you stuck around when we were younger was because of the guilt. This time around you stayed because you needed me to help you, but you’re pretty much on your own two feet these days so you don’t need my help anymore. There’s no reason for you to want to be around me anymore.” He’s having a tough time breathing but he soldiers on.

“I want you to know that I understand and I won’t be mad. I love every second that I get to spend with you, but once you’ve had enough I understand that you’re gonna go. I get upset because I’m selfish and needy and I want you to stay forever, and somehow that turns into anger. The other day I thought that if I made you leave rather than waiting for you to leave I would feel better about the whole thing,” Steve chokes out.

“But it didn’t and I’m really sorry for what I did. I want you to know that if you do decide to come back, I’ll be supportive and I’ll help you when you decide to move on. If you don’t wanna come back—I know that I don’t deserve to have you come back—then if there’s anything I can do to make you want to spend just a little time with me here and there, I’ll do it. Anything. I’ll do anything.” A few traitorous tears slide down his cheeks again and he scrubs at his eyes to make them stop. He feels an immense ache in his chest.

Bucky is silent for a long moment while Steve tries to get himself back under control.

Then: “Stevie—Jesus— _Stevie_ —” He sounds devastated, which doesn’t make sense.

Steve glances at him. “I told you, Buck, you don’t got anything to feel guilty over. Don’t start with that nonsense. This is why I didn’t wanna tell you—I didn’t wanna make you feel weird about it. I promise, I won’t make a fuss when—”

His words are abruptly cut off when Bucky covers his mouth with his hand. Bucky twists off the bench and crouches on the ground before Steve, his metal hand clutching Steve’s right thigh in a grip that’s just on the verge of being painful. Steve faintly registers that it’s one of the very few times that Bucky has willingly touched him with the metal hand. He doesn’t seem to be aware he’s doing it.

Steve blinks at him from behind the hand covering his mouth. This wasn’t how he’d thought the conversation would go.

“Sweetheart, _none_ of that is true. None of it. It’s breaking my damn heart that you thought any of that’s true.”

Steve lifts a hand and pulls Bucky’s hand from his mouth. He opens his mouth to stop Bucky’s attempts at making Steve feel better—with what are obviously lies—but Bucky’s shaking his head.

“No, Rogers. You had your time to talk, now I’m gonna talk and you’re gonna listen. You’re gonna listen better than you have in your entire life, you hear me?”

They stare at each other until Steve nods.

Bucky takes a moment to gather his sleeve in his right hand and wipe the tears and snot off Steve’s face, rubbing his filthy sleeve on his jeans when he’s done. He puts his hand on Steve’s leg and squeezes.

“Steven Grant Rogers, I’ve never been your friend out of guilt. And I sure as hell haven’t stayed with you all this time just because I need your help. I needed your help, sure, but I could have gotten that help from other people. I swear on my ma’s grave that I’ve only ever been by your side because I love you. First as a friend then later as more but it’s never, _ever_ been out of guilt or wanting to use you or any other awful reason. You hear me?”

He squeezes Steve’s leg gently and waits until Steve nods.

“Don’t be nodding because that’s what I want you to do. I want you nodding because you believe me. I’ve spent most of my life in love with you, and every day that I get to spend with you is a gift.”

Steve is barely breathing as Bucky continues.

“The only thing you said that’s true is that I’m getting better. You wanna know why I’m working so hard to get better? Partly it’s because I want my life back, but mostly it’s because I want to have a life with you. I want to be the best possible person I can be because that’s what you deserve, and getting better helps me be that person for you. I’m not holding out for better friends. You are the best friend and best person I could possibly want in my life. You hearing me? You’ve always been my best fella, the only fella I want in my life. You’re an idiot, but you’re my idiot and I want you to be my idiot for life.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. Steve stares at him for a long moment. “Buck—”

“You gonna argue with me?”

“I ain’t gonna argue, but—”

“But you’re gonna argue.” Bucky shoots him a rueful grin.

“Alright, fine, I’m gonna argue. I’m a mess. An absolute mess. You’re taking all these steps to getting better and I’m just stuck in neutral. On most days I’m pretty sure I’m going backwards. I don’t want you to have to put up with somebody like that. You deserve better.”

Bucky jostled his legs. “I agree. And you know who else deserves better?”

“Who?”

“You, you idiot. You, Steven Grant Rogers, deserves to live a life free from depression, just like I deserve to live a life free from nightmares and horrible memories. But we can’t just snap our fingers and make that happen. What we can do is take the steps that are right for each of us to get better.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You haven’t been trying hard enough. And we’re gonna work on that. I know you don’t want to, but that’s part of the problem. The depression tells you that you don’t wanna do anything, so then you don’t do anything and you feel worse.”

“What if I can’t?”

“We’re gonna work on it. And even if we never get to some magical time when everything’s fixed, I say as long as we’re happy then we’ve won. But you gotta keep trying, Stevie. Because if you give up and let the depression win then I can’t stay. I won’t stay and watch you hurt yourself and I’m also not gonna let you hurt me.”

Steve face crumbles as the guilt from that fight threatens to return.

Bucky jostles his legs again. “Hey, stop that. You’ve apologized and we’ve moved past that. We’re gonna work hard on making sure something like that doesn’t happen again, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You’ve gotta talk more. I don’t care if it’s with me or with Sam or with somebody else but you gotta talk to somebody, Stevie. Whenever you get crazy thoughts in your head you gotta talk them out with somebody so you can figure out if they’re crazy thoughts or if they’re regular thoughts. I hate the thought of you wasting time on the crazy ones.”

Steve nods. “I can do that. I can talk to Sam.” If it’ll save his relationship with Bucky, Steve will do it. Lord, he should have done it to begin with. He sees now that his brain isn’t always to be trusted when it comes up with ideas and thoughts. When the hell did Bucky Barnes get so mature and insightful?

Bucky grins at him. “That’s the spirit! See? We can do this. Together till the end of the line, pal.”

Steve gives him a small smile. Bucky leans up and they press their foreheads together. Steve grips the edge of the bench with both hands. He’s not sure if he has permission to touch Bucky and it’s better not to risk it.

Bucky pulls back. “But Rogers, I was serious—as serious as I’ve ever been. If you ever try to hurt me like that again, I’m gone.”

Steve’s nodding. “Okay. Okay. I promise, never again.”

“Proof is in the pudding, sweetheart. Prove it with your actions, not your words. I’m giving you a second chance, but I ain’t gonna give you a third. I put up with being Hydra’s punching bag for seventy years and I don’t gotta be anybody’s punching bag anymore. I refuse. Even if the one doing the punching is somebody I love. I’ll be out the door and there won’t be anything you can do or say to get me back. You get me?”

“Yes. I understand.”

Bucky gently holds Steve’s chin and stares at him, his eyes hard. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Steve’s voice is barely a whisper.

Bucky releases his chin, satisfied. “Okay. Now, I’m gonna spend tonight at Sam’s, and then tomorrow I’ll come back home.”

A smile spreads over Steve’s face. “Tomorrow? Really?”

“Yes.” Bucky pushes himself up and tightens his jacket around himself to fend off the cold. “Alright, I’m gonna head back to Sam’s. You head home and bake me some carrot cake, okay?”

*             *             *

The carrot cake is baking in the oven within an hour of Steve getting home. He spends the rest of the day frantically cleaning the apartment. He spends the night in Bucky’s bed but he barely sleeps a wink.

Bucky’s coming home. _Bucky’s coming home_.

When morning dawns, he’s up and makes himself breakfast. He eats more than he has for the past two days all put together—his appetite having suddenly made a re-appearance.

Then he putters around the apartment, too anxious and excited to focus on getting anything done. Every time he hears a noise, he freezes, thinking it’s the intercom.

Finally, the intercom buzzes. He lunges for it.

_“Hey, punk. Let me in.”_

Steve buzzes him in and hurries to open the door. He stands in the empty hallway until he hears Bucky coming up the stairs. He’s pulling the suitcase behind him and smiling at Steve as he approaches.

“Hey. I’m looking for an idiot who lives here? I hear he’s looking for a roommate?”

Steve laughs—the first laugh he’s managed in a week—and hurries forward to take the suitcase from him. “Yeah, I might know the guy. Not sure why you want to live with such an idiot.”

Bucky shrugs and enters their apartment. He takes off his shoes and hangs his jacket back on its usual hook. “He’s got some redeeming qualities apparently.”

Steve shuts the door behind them and stands there for a moment, feeling nervous.

“Do you—do you want something to drink?” Steve asks.

Bucky gives him a look and laughs. “Well aren’t you the most polite host in the world? I know where my own fridge is, thanks. But I do want carrot cake.”

Steve’s thrilled to have something to do with his hands so he gets to work cutting a huge slice of cake and sliding the plate across the table towards Bucky and getting him a fork. Then he sits and watches Bucky eat his way through the slice, his knee jiggling from nerves and excitement.

Steve can’t take his eyes off him.

Bucky is home. His heart—his _everything_ —is back home, sitting right in front of him and eating carrot cake. And Steve will never ever do anything to make him want to leave ever again.

Once Bucky’s finished, he shoves the plate back towards Steve and looks towards his suitcase.

“I’ll do it!” Steve says, hurriedly getting up and grabbing the suitcase. It’s only fair, since he’s the one who had packed it up in the first place.

Bucky doesn’t say anything while Steve opens it and puts everything back where it came from. The toiletries go back into the bathroom, the clothes go back into Bucky’s closet and the Barnes family photos go back into Bucky’s room. The other pictures get hung back on their hooks around the apartment. Steve discreetly slips into his bedroom, digs through his closet and pulls out the wrapped up shirt. He stares at the plastic covered bundle for several minutes, trying to decide what to do.

Does he trust that Bucky really wants to stay or does he not take the risk and keep the shirt just in case?

Indecision freezes him to the spot.

He goes back and forth in his head, until he decides he has to trust Bucky. Bucky had sworn that he wanted to be here and Steve knows he won’t ever do anything to make him want to leave again.

He unwraps the shirt and goes to hang it up in Bucky’s closet.

The empty suitcase is dropped by the door to bring to storage later. Lastly, he carries the Hulk slippers over to Bucky, who’s made himself comfortable on the couch.

Steve crouches down in front of Bucky. He holds out one slipper at a time and Bucky laughs as he slips his feet into them.

“Thank you, my prince. You gonna start calling me Cinderella?”

Steve smiles up at him. He stays crouched on the floor while Bucky stares down at him.

Several minutes go by while they stare at each other. Then Bucky sighs. “Give me your hands, Rogers.”

“What?”

“You’re not gonna touch me until I help, so here’s me helping. Give me your hands.”

Steve holds them up and Bucky takes them and brings them to his own face. He nuzzles both of Steve’s hands and kisses each palm, then presses them firmly against his own face.

Steve stares at him.

He realizes he’s shaking.

Bucky’s home. _Bucky’s home_.

And Steve doesn’t deserve this. At all.

He lowers his head and presses it against Bucky’s knees. Bucky drops his hands and Steve twists them into Bucky’s shirt.

Bucky rubs Steve’s back as he shakes. He leans down and kisses the back of Steve’s head. “It’s okay, Stevie. It’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry, Buck. I—I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I know you are. You’re gonna do everything you can do make sure it ain’t gonna happen again, right?”

Steve nods, face still pressed against Bucky’s knees. Bucky reaches down and lifts his face so they’re staring at each other.

“Cause I meant it, Rogers. You ain’t getting a third chance. I don’t care if my heart ain’t ever gonna heal, but you ain’t getting a third chance.”

Steve nods. “I know. I’ll show you, Buck. I promise. It ain’t ever gonna happen again. I’m so sorry.”

Bucky nods. “I know. Now hush up and get up here.” He pulls on Steve’s arms until he’s standing. Bucky twists on the couch so he’s lying on it, then he pulls Steve down so he’s lying half over Bucky and half against the back of the couch.

Steve’s tense and his hands hover over Bucky, not sure where to touch. Bucky grabs his arms and pulls them tight around his waist and presses Steve’s head against his chest.

Steve’s breathing is choppy and he’s still tense.

“Thank you for coming home, Buck. Thank you for the second chance. I won’t ruin it. I swear, I won’t ruin it.”

Bucky hooks one of his legs over Steve’s legs and rubs his back. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re alright now.”

He reaches out a hand for the remote and starts playing one of the house hunting shows. He knows neither of them will be moving for a while.


	13. Chapter 13

The next morning Bucky stumbles into the kitchen to find Steve busy at the stove.

“Hmm, that smells great. I have to tell you—Sam’s a good egg but he can’t cook to save his life.”

He watches Steve cook for a few minutes until he’s at a point where nothing’s about to burn.

“Alright, come here and give me a proper morning greeting,” he says, spinning Steve around. They’d spent the night curled up together on Bucky’s bed but Steve had remained tentative and unsure about touching Bucky without being directed.

Steve is smiling shyly at him and Bucky pulls him closer, grinning. “Good morning, Rogers,” he says and leans forward, giving him a kiss.

He feels Steve tense against him, his hands lightly holding Bucky’s hips. It takes another kiss from Bucky until Steve reacts and tentatively kisses back.

Bucky smiles and licks at the seam of Steve’s lips, waiting for them to open. With a happy sigh, Steve slowly relaxes against him and parts his lips, deepening the kiss.

Bucky hums happily. “Hmm, I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to do this,” he mumbles against his lips, then kisses him some more.

Steve pulls Bucky closer, his hands gripping him more firmly. “Nope. Just didn’t think I had a right to any of your kisses anymore.”

Bucky pulls back and frowns at him. “Hey, none of that, Rogers. You hear me? We’re not living like that. You ain’t gonna be spending the next ten years grovelling and apologizing. That ain’t a way to live. You said sorry, I forgave you and we’re fully moving forward with the second chance. Clean slate.”

Steve takes a shaky breath. “You sure?”

Bucky kisses him. “Yes, I’m sure. You okay with that?”

A weak laugh. “Yes, I’m okay with that.”

“Good. Now please help me with my hair,” he says, holding up his right wrist, which has a blue hair elastic around it.

When he absolutely has to he can put up his hair himself, but he likes to ask Steve for assistance whenever possible. He hates touching his hair with the metal hand—it’s so easy for strands to get caught between the small metal plates and joints—and doing it in a way where his metal hand doesn’t touch his hair takes forever. It’s possible, but it’s so much nicer when Steve does it.

Besides, this is another perfect opportunity to show Steve that he has put their fight behind them.

Steve smiles, his eyes soft. He pulls the elastic off Bucky’s wrist and Bucky spins around.

“How do you want it?” he asks.

“Polytail, please.”

Steve runs his fingers through his hair, taking much longer to gather the strands than is necessary, but Bucky enjoys feeling his fingers running over his scalp. He guesses Steve has missed this as much as he has.

Once the strands have been gathered, Steve pulls the elastic around the tail of hair and wraps it around twice more, then gently pulls the tail in half, tightening the elastic around it.

“Alright. Done.”

Bucky reaches up and pats the top of his head with his right hand, checking for bumps. “Good job, Rogers. Seems you didn’t forget how to do my hair properly.”

Steve laughs.

Bucky loves that sound. “Alright, now get back to the french toast. I’ll set the table.”

*             *             *

After breakfast, Steve makes Sam a batch of lasagna and brings it over to him. He realized he never properly thanked Sam for helping him find his way home the night the fight took place, and he needs to talk to him about other things anyway.

“I won’t ever turn down your cooking, but what’s this for?”

“For helping me when I’m being an idiot. That night on my bike, I might have ended up being the only person in the world who froze to death not once, but twice.”

Sam laughs and steps back, allowing Steve into his apartment. “Not knowing how to use your phone doesn’t make you an idiot. I don’t even know half the things mine can do.”

“If I were paying attention, I wouldn’t have gotten lost in the first place. So in conclusion: me equals idiot, you equals unbelievably good friend. The lasagna’s the least I can do.”

Sam puts the lasagna into the fridge while Steve has a seat at his kitchen counter. “You and Buck get along okay?”

Sam smiles. “Oh, yeah. He’s a great house guest. Did chores and he even cooked for me. Mainly he sat on the couch and glared at the TV or he was out stalking you.”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, he told me.”

“You guys okay?”

“We talked. I think we sorted things out but I have work to do. Lots of work.”

Sam seats himself at the counter beside Steve. “Yeah?”

“Sam… listen, I value your friendship.”

“I know, man.”

“I don’t wanna be taking advantage of it. I feel like all I ever do is ask you for help.”

“We’ve all been there at one point. When I first came home, all I ever did was ask other people for help. When I was standing on my own two feet, that’s when I started paying it back. And forward.”

“Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Can I ask you for help?” Steve keeps his gaze on the countertop.

Sam reaches over and squeezes one of Steve’s hands. “Always. _Always_. You hearing me? I may not be equipped to deal with some things, but I’ll let you know and help you find the right people.”

Steve glances at him, warmth blooming in his chest. He still can’t believe he’s stumbled across this wonderful man.

“I thought maybe you’d be annoyed with me.”

“Why would I be annoyed?”

Steve squirms, uncomfortable at having to admit his screw up. “Because you warned me and I ignored you.”

Sam frowns. “You gotta back it up a bit. What did I warn you about?”

“You told me that if I made Bucky’s recovery the focal point of my life, I’d end up screwing myself over. I ignored you and that’s pretty much what happened.”

“I’m not annoyed, don’t you worry about it. The important thing is that you noticed and you’re going to do something about it.”

Steve lets out a relieved sigh. “You’re really not annoyed?”

Sam squeezes his hand again. “Nope.”

“You’re too good of a person, Sam Wilson.”

“I know. Make sure you let my mom know, okay? I’ll get free home cooked food from her too.”

Steve smiles. “Is that your ulterior motive with all this?”

“Shh. Don’t go letting everybody know.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence while Sam gets up and cracks open a beer for each of them, sliding Steve’s across the counter to him.

“I think I still feel guilty over what happened on the train.”

Sam lowers his bottle to the counter. “When James fell?”

“Yeah. I—I should have worked harder to grab him. And after he fell, I should have gone back to look for him.”

“You know there’s no way you’d have been able to do either of those things. If you’re saying that you should have worked harder to grab him, then you’re really saying that there was a way to help him and you didn’t do it. I know that’s not true.”

“You weren’t there.”

“No. But I know that man’s the most important thing in your life and you wouldn’t have held anything back in order to keep him safe. If he fell, then there was nothing anybody could have done to prevent it. Nothing.”

Steve’s staring at the bottle in his hands, looking devastated. “I still should have looked for him afterwards.”

“There’s no way you would have found him before Hydra did.”

Steve shoots him an unimpressed look. “Again—you weren’t there.”

“Again—it doesn’t matter. I’m looking at the facts. You were in enemy territory, you were on a speeding train, in the mountains, in winter. Within seconds, you were already far away from where he fell. If you had been able to pinpoint where he fell, it would have taken a long time to get back there without getting killed. When James landed, he was in rough shape. I’m betting Hydra found him within a few hours. If not, he would have been long dead by the time anybody found him.”

Steve feels himself tearing up and rubs angrily at his eyes. That was true. That was all true. But—“I wish I could have done something to save him,” he says, his voice suddenly tiny.

“I know. And James knows. But that’s in the past and you gotta move on, man. Otherwise, you’ll stay stuck there. There aren’t any easy answers for survivor’s guilt, but dwelling on it doesn’t do any good and doesn’t change the situation. Besides, in your case, you got the best gift anybody in this situation could ask for: you got him back.”

“I know, but—”

Sam leans forward. “No. No ‘but’. That’s the point I’m trying to make. If you keep focusing on the ‘but’ and the guilt and the ‘what-ifs’, you’ll stay stuck there. You gotta focus on the fact that you got him back.”

Steve blinks, letting those words sink in. That—he’s never thought about it that way. “Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“I—I really got him back, didn’t I?”

“It’s one of the craziest twists of fate I’ve ever heard of. You gotta try to let go of what happened 70 years ago and focus on today. You aren’t helping James by letting your guilt dictate your actions, and you aren’t helping yourself. He doesn’t need you groveling, he needs you to live your life and be his partner and his best friend.”

Steve sips his beer, slowly mulling that over. “I’m allowed to do that?”

“Yeah,” Sam says softly, giving him a gentle smile. “Yeah, you’re allowed to do that. You’ve been stuck on that train for a long time. You can come home. Especially because James is heading home too, and he really wants you to join him.”

Steve smiles softly. “It sounds so simple.”

“I know. Nobody’s expecting you to change things overnight. One thing at a time is best.”

Steve fiddles with the beer bottle and glances at Sam. “Don’t tell me. Hobbies. Find things that make me happy.”

“Things that aren’t James. Or sitting on the couch watching TV. There’s nothing wrong with either of those things, but you’re already good at those things.”

“I gotta find things outside the bubble.”

Sam salutes him with his bottle and winks at him. “You’re one smart cookie, Rogers.”

“Yeah. I don’t know where I come up with these flashes of brilliance.”

Sam laughs. “The VA should be paying you. I don’t even know why they let me in there.”

*             *             *

“Buck, can you help me with the computer?”

Bucky slams the washing machine door shut and turns it on. “Sure.”

He heads over to the couch and snuggles up next to Steve, who has the computer in his lap. “What are you trying to do?”

“I wanna find some classes to take. Sam says there are tons of options around here.”

“Okay. Go to a search engine.”

Steve makes a face, having been ready to hand the computer over.

“Quit making faces, punk. You gotta practice. Go on—pull up a search engine. Hurry up.”

Bucky rests his head on Steve’s shoulder, watching him type.

“What kind of classes do you wanna take? Art classes? Cooking classes?”

“Art classes.”

Bucky guides him through finding some relevant websites and they start reading through them. Turns out there are a lot of options in terms of how many sessions the programs have and what materials they focus on.

Ironically, they find themselves on the Smithsonian Associate’s page, looking through their art class selection. Steve points out one of the classes which will be taking place in the Art museum and focuses on sketching some of the famous works of art on display. He’s never done anything like that before.

“The Art museum? You sure you’re gonna be able to find it? Your feet are probably gonna walk you straight to the History museum.” Bucky dissolves into quiet laughter, his shoulders shaking.

Steve elbows Bucky in the ribs. “You’re hilarious. This class starts next Tuesday at 10:30.”

“You think that fits into your schedule? Seeing how you’re such a busy, busy bee?”

“Shut up and help me register. And we gotta write out this supply list. Where’s the nearest art store?”

“You’re the one with the magic machine. Find one.”

After Steve has managed to sign up for the class, pay for it with a credit card and has found a nearby art store, he shuts the computer lid, feeling immensely proud of himself.

“Done.”

Bucky grins at him and kisses him on the cheek. “You’re fantastic.”

“You helped.”

“We’re both fantastic.”

“I can live with that.”

Steve laughs and puts the computer on the coffee table. Immediately, Bucky pulls him onto his lap for cuddling. Steve hums happily. “Can we stay like this forever?”

“Sure, but I was actually thinking of heading to bed.”

Steve’s grip loosens and he lifts his head. “Oh, okay.”

Bucky’s smiling at him. “I was actually hoping I’d have some company.”

A grin spreads over Steve’s face. “I like that idea.”

“Yeah? Me too.”

Bucky smacks Steve lightly on the butt, encouraging him to get up. Once they’re both standing, Bucky hunches over and grabs Steve’s knees and pulls him up onto his back.

Steve lets out a surprised shout and manages to wrap his arms around Bucky’s neck to keep them from toppling over.

“Christ, Buck! Warn me next time!”

Bucky’s laughing in delight, adjusting Steve against his back and heading off towards his bedroom. “You remember the last time I carried you like this?”

“Yeah. Before the war. We went to the dance hall on Gilford Street and I had way too much to drink. I threw up on myself twice and you still insisted on carrying me all the way home. I don’t remember any of it but you told me.”

They enter Bucky’s bedroom and Bucky turns so his back is to the bed, then he lets himself fall backwards on to the mattress. They land on the bed in a tangle of limbs. Bucky’s staring up at the ceiling with a smile. “You threw up on yourself twice and once on me. You also insulted Davey Crawford before we left so I had to convince him not to kill you before I managed to get you out of there. It was a lot of excitement for one night.”

Bucky twists until he’s facing Steve. He grins down at him and leans down, kissing him. He pulls back but Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s back, keeping him close. “Come back here, jerk.”

Bucky grins and darts back in. They make out for a while, keeping things chaste until Steve licks his way into Bucky’s mouth and things start getting more heated. Steve throws a leg over Bucky’s ass, pressing them together. Bucky groans and rocks against him, kissing his way down Steve’s neck. He pauses at Steve’s shirt and lets out an annoyed huff.

“Rogers, we gotta get our clothes off.”

Steve’s nuzzling Bucky’s hair. “Okay.”

“Punk, that means we gotta separate.”

Steve tightens his grip on Bucky with his arms and leg. “No.”

Bucky laughs and wiggles his right hand between their bodies. He cups Steve’s cock through his jeans and squeezes. Steve lets out a gasp. “Oh, that’s nice.”

“It’s even nicer if we get our clothes off.”

“Fine. Fine, you win.”

Steve reluctantly releases him and they scramble to get out of their clothes, sending them flying around the room. Bucky still has a sock on when Steve grabs him and pulls him down again, wrapping his arms and legs around him.

“Jesus, I’ve still got one sock on.”

Steve searches out Bucky’s mouth and licks into his mouth. “Don’t care,” he whispers.

Bucky’s quickly forgetting about his sock as they rock against each other, their cocks sliding together, pre-cum making things slick and oh so good.

Then Bucky remembers that he actually has a plan.

He pulls back from Steve’s mouth. “Hey, Stevie?”

Steve slowly opens his eyes, his eyes dark with arousal. “Why aren’t we kissing? More kissing should be happening. Less talking.”

“Can I give you a suck job?”

Steve blinks, looking shocked. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. I ain’t never done it before, but I sorta remember having a few girls give me one. You want one?”

“Hell yes.”

Bucky grins and kisses his way down Steve’s neck, taking the time to nibble on his earlobe and then moving downwards. He stops at Steve’s nipples, giving them each a playful lick that make Steve’s breath catch—which Bucky makes note of for the future—and traces his ribs and abs on his way down.

Bucky takes Steve in hand and jerks him. “Hey, Stevie?”

“Yeah?” Steve gasps out.

“Keep your hips still, okay? I need one hand on you but I don’t wanna use my metal arm to hold you down. You gotta do it for me.”

“’Kay.”

Bucky jerks him a few more times, then leans down to lick at the head, loving the surprised gasp that comes out of Steve. He wraps his lips around him and gently sucks, first just on the head and then gradually moving up and down, using his hand to stroke the parts he can’t get into his mouth.

Steve’s groaning and cursing, letting out sounds that Bucky’s never heard him make before. It’s amazing. One of his hands comes down to gently cup Bucky’s cheek while the other reaches above his head to grip the headboard hard enough to make it creak. Both his legs tense from time to time and his toes are curling, but true to his word, he keeps his hips still.

Bucky keeps working his cock, gradually increasing the suction and letting his tongue dip into his slit.

After a while, he feels Steve tensing up and he knows by his breathing that he’s going to come soon. He pulls off and jerks him the way Steve likes. Steve’s head is thrown back and his whole body arches as he lets out a shout and comes. Bucky’s grinning as he strokes him through it.

Once Steve’s done, he’s lying in a boneless puddle, eyes closed and gasping for breath like he’s just run two marathons. Bucky reaches over for some tissues and wipes Steve off. He notices he’d lost his erection at some point. He’s mildly disappointed, but in a way, he’s happy that he can keep focusing on Steve for the moment.

Steve blinks his eyes open gradually. “Buck.”

Bucky grins. “Lost for words? Yeah, I tend to have that effect on people.”

“Buck. My Bucky,” Steve mumbles, his eyes shining.

Bucky tosses the tissues away, drapes himself over Steve and peppers his face with kisses. “I love you. You know that, you punk?”

Steve smiles. “I know. You know what?”

Bucky kisses his chin and stares down at him. “What?”

“I love you, you jerk.”

They grin at each other, in the same way they’d grinned at each other when they were kids and had pulled off a successful prank: utter satisfaction with each other and life in general.

Steve shifts around and when his knee bumps into Bucky’s groin, his smile disappears, replaced with concern. Bucky shakes his head. “Hey, don’t. It don’t matter. It showed up at the party but then decided it wasn’t having as good of a time as we were so it went home early. That’s okay. We’ll see if it’s up for having a good time tomorrow.”

“Were you having a good time?” Steve asks, concerned.

Bucky grins down at him and kisses him firmly. “Did I have a good time? Are you kidding me? It was amazing. And you liked it too, right?”

“Did I like it? Are you serious? It’s going straight on my top five life experiences. Don’t be offended, but I don’t know if you’re ever gonna be able to top that one.”

“Well, now that the challenge is set I’m fully prepared to face it.”

“Face it? You mean suck it?”

“Oh, you’re a funny man now, huh?”

“Absolutely. I charge by the hour.”

*             *             *

Bucky acts like its Steve’s first day of school when they get ready before Steve’s first art class. Steve packs his new art supplies and a lunch into Bucky’s old backpack and grabs his motorcycle helmet, feeling excited.

Bucky’s beaming at him. “All set?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“You got your phone, right? You’ll call if there are any problems?”

Steve smiles and pulls him into a tight hug. “Of course I will. What are you gonna do while I’m gone?”

“I’m gonna go for a run.”

“To the museum?”

“Maybe.”

Steve laughs and reaches behind him to pull Bucky’s motorcycle helmet off the hook too.

“Good thing I packed a big lunch. We can share.”

“Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna hover. You won’t even know I’m there. I just wanna make sure this whole thing is a good idea.”

True to his word, Steve never catches sight of Bucky once they split up in the parking lot of the museum. The instructor is a nice older man and if he recognizes Steve, he doesn’t mention it. There are about a dozen students and together they move through the museum to one of the paintings. As they get themselves set up and the instructor starts giving a lecture on the painting and how they are going to sketch it, Steve starts truly enjoying himself. If he had come by himself, he would have been more anxious about being in unfamiliar surroundings with all of these strangers, but he knows he doesn’t have to worry about those things. Bucky’s keeping an eye on those things for him. He can just focus on the class.

He’s never drawn in a group before. It feels like he’s going on a mission with these people, the objective being to sketch the painting before them to the best of their ability. As they get going, he feels great. The instructor is knowledgeable and nice and comes by from time to time to offer constructive criticism. The others in the class help each other out, peering at each other’s sketches and offering suggestions or asking for advice. The first hour flies by and Steve almost feels annoyed at having to stop for lunch, but then he remembers that Bucky’s waiting.

He heads out into the parking lot and finds Bucky on a nearby bench. They exchange big grins and Bucky grabs him in a big hug as soon as he’s within reaching distance.

“You’re having a good time, I can tell,” Bucky says, squeezing him.

“It’s great!”

Bucky jostles him happily and whispers into his ear: “I’m so proud of you.”

Despite how well the class is going, Steve feels immensely relieved that Bucky has come along. He knows he probably wouldn’t have such an easy time relaxing if he didn’t have Bucky watching his back.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he whispers into Bucky’s ear.

Bucky brushes a discreet kiss under his ear.

“Come on. Let’s eat lunch before they call you back to finish your master piece.”


	14. Chapter 14

A muffled shout abruptly pulls him from sleep. His eyes fly open and he tenses, eyes darting around the darkness of his bedroom, trying to identify the source of the noise.

Another muffled noise, followed by a thump. It’s coming from the other side of the wall, which Bucky knows is shared with Alina’s apartment. The large green digits on the clock by his bed inform him it’s 2:17 am.

Another thump, followed by another shout. Definitely a male voice.

There should not be a male voice shouting in a seventy year old widowed woman’s apartment at two in the morning. Really, there shouldn’t be any shouting in any apartment at two in the morning, but especially not in Alina’s apartment.

He shoots out of bed. “Steve!” he calls. Both of their bedroom doors are open and he sees Steve immediately bolt out of bed.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s something going on in Alina’s apartment. It doesn’t sound good.”

Steve leaps up and rummages around in his closet. He reappears in his doorway with his shield in one hand and a gun in the other. Bucky hurries into the kitchen and pulls a knife from the knife block and slides it up the right sleeve of his long sleeved night shirt, keeping the handle clutched in his right hand.

Steve is stuffing the gun and his phone into his boxer shorts waistband and strapping the shield to his arm. They slide into their boots and Steve flips the deadbolt on the front door and pulls it open. Bucky darts through and heads down the apartment hallway towards Alina’s door, Steve following behind.

They pause by the closed door. They hear dishes shattering, along with a woman sobbing and a man yelling at her to shut up. It cements the impression that nothing good is taking place.

Bucky knocks on the door loudly. “Hello? Is everything okay in there, Alina?” After knocking, he steps to the side of the door, in case somebody gets trigger happy on the other side. He can feel Steve behind his shoulder, ready to yank Bucky back behind the shield if necessary.

“Alina?”

The man’s yelling has abruptly stopped and the only sound from the apartment is a woman crying.

“It’s James. If you don’t open the door in five seconds, I’m gonna come in. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

He starts loudly counting down. He hopes the door isn’t locked so he won’t have to kick it down.

Before he even gets to three, Alina screams out “Help!”. Without hesitation, Bucky tries the door, finds it unlocked and shoves the door open, Steve slipping past him to enter the room first behind the protection of the shield.

Alina is in her nightgown, crouching on the floor by her kitchen, hair in disarray and tears streaming down her face. There are two men in the apartment, both wearing dark clothes and masks over their faces. One is holding a bag and had been rummaging through the contents of one of Alina’s shelves displaying her treasured decorative plates collection. Multiple plates lie smashed on the floor and he’s holding one plate that’s made it half way into the bag. The entire apartment has been ransacked, things have been knocked over and drawers have been yanked open and the contents strewn around.

The biggest concern is the other man who is pointing a gun at an advancing Steve.

Steve doesn’t hesitate and rushes at the gunman, keeping the shield between himself and the gun. Before the man has time to fire, Steve has bowled him over and is wrestling with him on the floor.

His partner has dropped the bag and is darting towards a window that’s propped open. They’re on the second floor, not an impossible jump. Bucky leaps over Alina’s couch and lunges for the man, who jumps right before Bucky’s hand can close around his ankle. He leaps after him, landing on the flowerbed below. He rolls to his feet and spies his target already running down the street.

Bucky races after him, ignoring the biting cold and the fact that he’s barely wearing any clothes. He readies the knife in his hand but decides not to use it unless absolutely necessary.

He quickly gains ground on his target and tackles him before they reach the end of the block. They go down in a rolling pile of limbs on the grass beside the sidewalk and Bucky immediately sits on the man’s back, clamping his left hand around the back of his neck, guaranteeing he won’t be getting away. The man’s swearing and struggling, making futile attempts to throw him off, but Bucky’s not going anywhere.

“Quit struggling, you idiot. You’re not going anywhere except jail. What the hell is wrong with you? Robbing an old lady in the middle of the night?”

“Fuck you! I didn’t rob anybody, you stupid fuck! Get the fuck off me! I don’t know what you’re talking about, you bitch!”

Bucky tightens the grip of his left hand and the man lets out a yell of pain but stops yelling obscenities. Bucky doesn’t want to risk moving the man and he has nothing to restrain him with. He doesn’t want to knock him out or cause him permanent injury, so he decides to stay there until the police come.

He knows Steve would have called the cops as soon as he had finished restrained the other robber so he just has to wait. He ignores the biting cold and the numbness spreading through his legs. They’re both panting from their sprint down the street, their breath fogging up in the cold.

Bucky hears the sirens before he sees the police cars. They round the corner, lights flashing and sirens screaming. There are two vehicles, one of which races past them and stops by their apartment further down the block. The other one pulls over where he is.

Two policemen get out. “Are you James Barnes?”

“Yes.”

“Is this the guy who was robbing Unit 207?”

“He’s one of them, yes. Steve’s got the other one.”

Bucky slowly pushes himself up and lets the two policemen take over.

“Yeah, we got a call from Steve. He said you’d be around here somewhere with the second guy.”

They handcuff the man, haul him up, read him his rights and shove him into the back of the car. The stream of profanity and the declarations of innocence that he directs at the policemen are cut off when the door slams behind him. The two cops get back into the vehicle and head down the block towards the apartment, Bucky trailing after them.

When he’s half way back to their building, he spies Steve in the distance, jogging towards him. Steve’s pulled on warm sweatpants and a sweater at some point. In his hands he’s holding a jacket and he immediately wraps it around Bucky when he’s close enough. Steve hugs him tight, rubbing his arms. “Jesus, you’re freezing. Come on, let’s get our butts inside. They need to talk to us.”

They hurry to their building, Bucky hugging the jacket tightly around himself, shivering. Approaching their building, Bucky can see that two of the policemen have gone into the building while the other two are keeping an eye on the two robbers safely confined in the vehicles.

He lets Steve lead him inside and is immediately grateful for the heat that envelops him. On their way to Alina’s apartment, Bucky stops by their apartment and quickly pulls on warm sweatpants and swaps the jacket for a sweater.

“How’s Alina?”

“She’s pretty shaken up but she’s tough. She found me some extension cords that I restrained the guy with. As soon as the cops showed up, they took him out. When they came back in, she told me she’d be fine for a few minutes while I went out for you.”

They head over to Alina’s apartment. She’s sitting on the couch, pale and exhausted but calmly answering questions. One of the policemen had made her a cup of tea and he hands it to her as Bucky and Steve come in. Alina’s old golden retriever Suzy is lying at her feet, half asleep and seemingly oblivious to what had happened. Bucky doesn’t remember seeing Suzy when they had come in earlier but he’s grateful that Suzy kept herself quiet and out of the way. She’s too old to have helped protect Alina, and Bucky’s glad the robbers didn’t shot her under the assumption that she’d be a threat.

Bucky sits on the couch beside Alina and gives her a smile. “Hello, my brave lady.”

She gives him a thin smiles and reaches up to pinch his cheek, eyes widening when she makes contact with his cold skin. “You are very cold, James.”

“I’ll be fine, darling.”

“Steve bring you jacket?”

“Yes, he did.”

She sighs. “You both very brave boys.”

“Not as brave as you.”

She reaches out and holds on to Bucky’s hand before turning her attention back to the policeman. Steve walks around the couch and sits on the arm of the couch on her other side. She blindly reaches out and Steve takes her other hand.

Alina struggles through the story, explaining how the men had knocked on her door, claiming they were new tenants living below her and there was a leak coming through their ceiling. They wanted to come inside to help her turn off the water. She had let them in, at which point, they had shoved the door shut and threatened her with the gun. One of them forced her to lock Suzy into the bathroom, threatening to shoot the dog if she made a sound, and the other started ransacking the place, stuffing anything that seemed valuable into a bag. Thankfully Suzy stayed quiet in the bathroom until Alina had let her out after the ordeal was over.

While they’re answering questions, Bucky reaches down and scratches Suzy behind the ears, happy that she’s alright. Her tail starts wagging, thumping on the floor and she snuffles into Bucky’s hand, recognizing his smell. While he’s bent over, he spies the edge of Steve’s shield peeking out from underneath the couch. He smothers an amused smirk and casually uses the heel of his boot to shove it completely out of sight. Whether the cops know who Steve is or not, it’s obvious that Steve wants to keep this a ‘Steve Rogers’ situation and not turn it into a ‘Captain America’ situation.

The police scold Bucky for having gone after the robber himself and Bucky politely smiles through their comments, promising to let the police handle such things in the future.

Right.

They even ask to see Steve’s gun license, which also amuses Bucky. They really are civilians these days.

Once the policemen have left, Bucky and Steve insist that Alina spend the night in their apartment. Her whole apartment is a mess and despite her brave demeanor, they can tell she’s still in shock and frightened.

They help her gather up some of her and Suzy’s things, retrieve Steve’s shield and head over to their apartment. They set up Suzy’s doggy bed beside the television and fill her water bowl. Bucky rushes into his room and puts new sheets on the bed and heads back over to Alina’s apartment to grab her own blanket and pillow, figuring she’ll sleep better with her own bedding. Alina sits on their couch, insisting they don’t need to fuss over her so much, but they both ignore her and putter around, getting things as comfortable for her as possible, putting her favourite mug on the kitchen counter so it’s ready for tea in the morning and putting her toothbrush in the bathroom beside their own.

Then they sit on the couch with her and Steve puts on one of the cooking competition episodes on the television. Suzy comes lumbering over and drapes herself over Alina’s feet.

She’s staring at the television without really seeing it. “I can’t believe this happen. It terrible. So terrible.”

Steve rubs her back and Bucky takes hold of her hand again.

“You were so brave, Alina. You did a great job.” Steve pauses. “Is there anybody you want us to call? Any family or friends?”

She shakes her head. “No. Nobody.”

Bucky squeezes her hand. “Not nobody anymore. You’ve got us.”

She swallows hard and Bucky can see fresh tears brimming her eyes. He reaches over and gently wipes them away with his thumb.

“If you boys not hear the noise, you not come and maybe they get angry because I have no expensive things. Maybe they hurt me or Suzy.”

Steve presses his lips together. Neither of them know what to say. She’s right—it’s only because of Bucky’s heightened sense of hearing that he had heard the noise, and there’s no telling what the men might have done if they had realized that Alina had very little worth stealing.

Steve pulls her into his arms and rests his chin on her head, rubbing her back as she starts crying softly.

Bucky gets a spare blanket from his bedroom and wraps it around her and Steve.

They stay with her on the couch until she falls asleep, exhausted by her ordeal. Steve picks her up and carries her into Bucky’s bedroom. She wakes up as he’s putting her down and starts complaining about their fussing again but they shush her and tuck her in, kissing her forehead and bidding her good night. They head to Steve’s bed and keep both doors open by unspoken agreement. They’ll take turns keeping watch, ensuring that they’ll notice if Alina needs them.

“Buck, I’ll take first watch. You nearly froze your butt off out there so I owe you,” Steve whispers as they take off their sweaters and sweatpants, leaving them in boxer shorts and shirts.

Bucky smirks. “I’ll take that, no problem,” he replies quietly. They lie down, Steve taking the spot closer to the door and Bucky curling up beside him, snuggling into the warm blankets.

“Wake me up when it’s my turn,” he mumbles quietly, closing his eyes.

“Yup. Sleep tight.”

Bucky feels Steve’s hand combing through his hair and smoothing it behind his ear. He can hear Steve leaning over, and then kisses are brushed over his cheek and temple.

“Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Good job tonight. I’m proud of you.”

Bucky opens his eyes and turns his head, catching Steve’s lips for a kiss before he pulls back. “And I’m proud of you. We did good tonight. It’s terrible that Alina had to go through this, but it’s nice to know we can still take care of business.”

Steve chuckles quietly and leans against the headboard, picking up his e-reader. “You can take the soldiers out of the army, but you can’t take the army out of the soldiers.”

Bucky snuffles a laugh into the pillow as he closes his eyes again and drifts off to sleep.

*             *             *

Alina and Suzy stay with them for a week while Bucky and Steve fix the damage to her apartment. They clean up all the debris and help replace some of the things that had been broken. They coordinate their schedules so one of them is home with Alina at all times and take turns walking Suzy and bringing Alina to her senior’s yoga class at the nearby rec center. When Steve has to go to his art class, Bucky and Alina both tag along, Alina liking the art museum and wanting to get out of the apartment.

Once her apartment is repaired, Alina and Suzy go back home, but the boys spend a few nights taking turns sleeping on her couch. It gives her peace of mind and they can help her when she wakes up with nightmares or frightened by noises drifting from nearby units.

Steve makes a copy of their apartment key and they insist Alina think of their apartment as an extension of hers. Bucky tells her she’s welcome to come and go whenever she wants, as long as she respects the closed bedroom door policy that they live with.

It becomes routine for Alina to show up in their apartment for breakfast. Many of her mugs work their way into their cupboard and tins of her tea become a permanent fixture in their kitchen. Following breakfast, whoever doesn’t have an appointment or class often joins Alina and Suzy for a walk. On many mornings, all three of them can be seen wandering around on the quiet sidewalks, warm hats on their heads, hands jammed into jacket pockets and Suzy lumbering along beside them.

*             *             *

While he’s brushing his teeth, Steve keeps glancing at Bucky in the mirror, who’s combing his hair. Bucky notices him staring and raises his eyebrows at Steve’s reflection.

“What? I know I don’t have anything on my face since I’m staring into a mirror.”

Steve leans over to spit and rinse his mouth. When he straightens up, hand fiddling with his toothbrush, he decides to just get it over with.

“Buck, I think you should seriously consider going to a dentist.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “We’ve never gone to a dentist in our entire lives.”

“Not true. I went a few months after I woke up. Turns out us not being able to afford to go to the dentist doesn’t save you from cavities. I had to go multiple times for them to fix everything that was wrong with my teeth. Now I go once a year for a cleaning.”

Bucky looks contemplative. “What’s it like?”

“You sit in a chair that’s lowered so you’re lying on your back and the doctor works in your mouth. If they have to pull teeth or something like that, they freeze your mouth so you don’t feel anything.”

Bucky’s gone a bit pale. Maybe it’s the mention of the chair. Maybe it’s the thought of doctors working on him in such close proximity. Probably it’s a combination.

“This ain’t something we can do ourselves?”

“No. You’re missing a lot of teeth and probably have a lot of cavities and other things. It needs to be done by people who know what they’re doing.”

Bucky falls silent.

“Listen, forget I said anything. If you don’t want to go, then you don’t have to.” Steve doesn’t ask what Bucky’s planning on doing if he ends up with more rotting teeth. On some days he can tell Bucky’s in pain by the way he moves food to certain parts of his mouth, but Bucky’s treating his teeth with the same disregard that Hydra had so he never comments on it. If he’s yanking rotting teeth out on his own, Steve’s never noticed.

Bucky’s playing with the comb in his hands. “Let me think about it, okay?”

“Sure.”

*             *             *

Steve drops the subject, not wanting Bucky to feel pressured about it. Bucky goes to therapy, Steve goes to art class, they start watching a new season of the kid’s cooking competition and encourage Alina to sign up for a knitting club where she can meet some new people. Going to the grocery store becomes easier for everybody when they combine their trips—Alina does the driving in her car and the boys steer the carts and carry the bags.

Steve’s sitting on the couch, scrolling through his twitter feed on his phone. Bucky’s sitting at the kitchen table with the laptop, his metal arm resting on the table top.

Steve’s in the midst of adding somebody new to his feed when he notices Bucky grabbing his cell phone and flipping it open to make a call.

“Hi. My name—my name’s James Barnes. I’d like to make an appointment.”

Steve stops paying attention to his phone.

“No, not that soon, I was thinking about the end of the month? Oh, and Tuesdays aren’t good. Thursdays also aren’t good.”

Steve knows his art classes are on Tuesdays, and Bucky’s therapy sessions are down to once a week, usually on Thursdays.

“Yes, Monday 29th is good. Two is fine,” Bucky says. He must notice that Steve is paying attention, since he puts the phone on the counter and puts it on speaker.

“—do you need the appointment for?” A slightly accented female voice comes out of the phone.

Bucky leans on the counter so his voice will be picked up by the tiny flip phone. “It’s for—it’s—uh I’ve never gone to a dentist before.”

“Never?” she sounds surprised and a bit skeptical.

“Uh huh. Never.”

“Do you mean you’ve never had significant procedures done or you’ve never had a dental check-up at all?”

“I mean I’ve never visited a dentist in my entire life,” Bucky sounds a bit testy, but Steve knows how much courage this phone call is requiring so he doesn’t call him out on his rudeness.

“I see. That’s not a problem. We’ll schedule you for a check-up and cleaning and then we’ll have enough information to determine if we need to do more work.”

Bucky pauses for a long moment, fidgeting. “I also—I have PTSD. Is that okay?”

“You have what?”

“I—I don’t like doctors or medical procedures. It makes me really anxious.”

“I see. What can we do to make things easier for you, sir?”

Bucky looks over at Steve, who’s mouthing “you’ll need more time” at him.

“I’ll need more time than other people. The dentist will have to explain things before he does them and do things slowly. Also, is there a certain time of day that’s quieter? I do better without a lot of noise.”

“That’s not a problem. How about I change your appointment to 7 am? Our office doesn’t usually open until 9 am but I can make an exception. That way there won’t be other patients around and it’ll be quieter.”

“The dentist won’t mind coming in that early?”

She laughs. “I’m the dentist and no, I don’t mind.”

Bucky looks surprised but takes it in stride. “Oh, that’s good. You sure you don’t mind?”

“No, sir. It’s fine. Do you have any other questions?”

Bucky asks a few more questions regarding the procedures which will be done and whether Steve can come along before he’s satisfied and closes the conversation by re-confirming his appointment day and time.

“We’ll see you then, sir. Have a good day.”

“You too.” Bucky snaps the phone shut, walks over to the couch and collapses next to Steve.

Steve immediately pulls him down so his head is in Steve’s lap and lets Bucky snuggle into the fuzzy sweater he’s wearing.

“So, the twenty-ninth, 7 am.”

Bucky grunts into the sweater.

Steve turns on the television and drops the remote on the arm of the couch. He wraps one arm around Bucky, stroking his back, and the other hand brushes his hair.

He leans down and kisses his head, fierce pride burning in his chest.

*             *             *

When Bucky gets home from his next therapy appointment, he looks annoyed.

“Jemisha gave me homework.”

Steve’s folding their laundry on his bed. “Yeah? What is it?”

“I have to find things that smell good.”

Steve pauses, a shirt half folded in his hands. That—doesn’t really sound like homework a therapist would give somebody. “Things that smell good?”

Bucky grunts in response and collapses on Steve’s bed, shoving the laundry out from under him as he sprawls.

“It’s for grounding.”

“What’s that mean?”

“If I get really anxious or start having a panic attack, there are things I can do to calm myself down.”

Steve’s seen Bucky get a bit anxious here and there with new situations, but it’s never been bad enough to require intensive fixes.

“Is this about the dentist?”

“Uh huh. I’m pretty sure things will go a bit sideways and I want to be ready.” He’s fiddling with a sock.

Steve finishes folding the shirt and drops it on Bucky’s pile. He picks up one of his boxers and shakes it out. “Okay. So you have to find things that smell good?”

“Yeah. Jemisha says that smell is a really important sense for grounding. We tried some scents she had in her office, lavender and citrus and stuff like that, but I didn’t like any of that. I want something that’ll remind me of before.”

Before the war, before Hydra.

“You can’t light up a smoke when you’re indoors, you know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s out. Anyway, I promised you I wouldn’t pick that up again, didn’t I? We gotta think of something else.”

“I don’t think people would be happy with you carrying around a rotting fish in your pocket.”

Bucky huffs a quiet laugh and throws a shirt at Steve’s head. “Quit with the malarkey, you knucklehead. Be serious.”

“Seriously, most of what we smelled back in the day stank pretty bad. Tons of garbage, fish from the docks, terrible sewage systems. Just cause we were used to it doesn’t mean it smelled good. What about something fruity?”

Bucky makes a face.

“Yeah, I know you’re not a fan,” Steve says, picking up a pair of his jeans and shaking them out. “Alright, let me think it over a bit more and I’ll let you know when I have ideas.”

*             *             *

Two days later, the idea comes to Steve in the middle of the night. He sits straight up in bed, heart racing from excitement. He tip-toes out of his room and makes his way to the kitchen where the laptop is sitting. He brings it back to his room and quietly clicks his door shut, feeling giddy.

He boots up the computer and impatiently waits for everything to start up. He opens a search engine and starts looking for what he wants.

He knows exactly what he’s looking for but he isn’t sure if they still make it or how he can go about getting it if they do.

Finally, he finds the exact item he wants on a German website. Thankfully the website gives the option of displaying information in German or English so he doesn’t have to try using his rusty German while he’s ordering and paying for the item.

He puts the order through on his credit card and selects the expedited shipping. He wants to make sure it’ll get here well before Bucky’s dentist appointment. If Bucky ends up hating it, they’ll have time to find something else.

*             *             *

About a week later, there’s a knock on the door and Steve leaps off the couch, shouting that he’ll get the door. He accepts the delivery and sees from the paperwork that it’s from Germany.

Grinning with excitement, he shuts the door and hurries to the couch where Bucky’s sprawled out, watching a factory episode. Bucky glances up at him.

“Jesus, Rogers, I thought you lit your pants on fire, you were up so quick. Are you okay? Why’re you so enthusiastic about accepting deliveries?”

Steve’s grinning down at him.

Bucky grins back, a bit warily. “You okay, buddy? Did Sam send us something again?”

“No, Buck. I ordered something. For you. For the homework that Jemisha gave you.”

Bucky sits up, intrigued. “Really? What is it?”

Steve thrusts the parcel at him. “Open it and see.”

While Bucky takes it and starts unwrapping it, Steve presses his lips together. “If you don’t like it, just tell me and I’ll get rid of it. It was just an idea I had but we can think of something else if you—”

“Hush up, Rogers. I’ll love it, whatever it is. Maybe it won’t be good for the homework, but I’ll love it no matter what it is.”

He finishes tearing into it and pulls out the bubble wrapped object. When he pulls off the wrap, he freezes, staring down at the [red tin](https://pomadeshop.com/en/pomades/pomades-of-the-1930s).

Steve’s trying to temper the enormous grin that’s creeping over his face. He’s thrilled to see that the tin looks exactly like the originals had back in their day. The German website had guaranteed authenticity.

Bucky’s frozen and he’s staring down at the tin. He blinks rapidly a few times and then he’s looking up at Steve.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, Buck.”

“Is it just the tin, or…”

“Open it and see.” His jaw’s starting to hurt from grinning so hard.

Bucky gently unscrews the lid, an action that Steve’s seen him do a million times. He pulls the lid off and stares down at the waxy substance filling the small tin. He lifts it up and sniffs it. He starts grinning.

“Oh, Jesus, Stevie, it smells exactly the same.”

“That’s because it _is_ exactly the same. This man in Germany has a store and he makes all types of hair products from the 30s and 40s, using the same recipes.”

Bucky holds the tin with his metal hand and dabs his fingers into the goop, rubbing it between his fingers and then smoothing a little bit of it through his hair.

Steve presses his lips together. “Damn, it’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen you do that.”

“Well, it’s been a damn long time since I’ve had a tin of pomade in my hands.” He’s grinning at Steve, clearly thrilled.

“So, I don’t know if it’ll work for the grounding thing or not, but I thought you’d—”

Bucky laughs. “Stevie, this is perfect! Are you kidding? Perfect! No matter where I go in my head, you stick some of this under my nose and I’ll be right back with you. I can’t promise I’ll be in the right time, but I definitely won’t be somewhere nasty anymore.”

Bucky carefully screws the lid back on and then opens his arms. “Get over here, punk! Jesus Christ!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed the link in the story, the website where Steve ordered the pomade [actually exists](https://pomadeshop.com/en/pomades/pomades-of-the-1930s)! They sell authentic hair products from the 1930s and 1940s.
> 
> Next chapter: The boys go to the dentist.....


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the boys will be spending a lot of time at the dentist from this point onwards, I wanted to point out that all of the information regarding Bucky's visits to the dentist are based on my (and my family's) experiences with our own dentist, and internet research. Enjoy!

The twenty-ninth comes ridiculously quickly. Bucky manages to eat half a bowl of cereal at Steve’s urging, brushes his teeth and then avoids thinking about where they’re going as he climbs on the back of the motorcycle, hanging onto to Steve as they drive through the early morning darkness.

Once they park the bike, Bucky reaches over and grasps Steve’s hand, clutching it tightly. They walk hand in hand to the office, where Steve knocks on the closed door.

A middle-aged Indian woman appears at the door and lets them in, smiling at them. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

Bucky manages a shaky smile and sticks his hand out for her to shake. “Morning. I’m James.”

Steve reaches around him and shakes her hand, keeping his other hand on Bucky’s lower back. “And I’m Steve.”

“Dr. Mandeep Dhesi. You can call me Mandeep. Please, come in.”

They head inside and Mandeep gestures them into seats while she hands Bucky a clipboard and pen. “I just need you to fill out this information, James. Let me know when you’re ready or if you have any questions.”

Bucky looks down at the form and blinks a few times, trying to focus. The office smells like antiseptic and other smells that signify a sterile environment. He hates that smell. The smell brings forth flashes of countless rooms and laboratories, full of medical equipment and white clad doctors. Being in such rooms only ever brought him pain and fear.

He feels Steve gently pulling the pen and clipboard out of his shaking right hand and he watches numbly as Steve starts filling out the information.

Bucky keeps blinking, focusing on practicing the grounding techniques Jemisha has taught him. Pushing back the memories, he forces himself to stay in the present. He stares hard at the carpet, at the other chairs, at Steve writing on the clipboard.

Abruptly he gets up to sit on Steve’s other side so he can hold his left hand while he’s writing with his right.

He alternates staring around the office and down at Steve’s hand. His gloved left hand is clutching the chair arm hard enough that it’s creaking in protest, and his right hand is fidgeting with Steve’s hand, squeezing and releasing one finger after another. As he moves from one finger to another, he mentally counts from one to five, and then backwards. Start at the thumb. 1…2…3…4…5. Pause. Start at the pinky finger. 5…4…3…2…1. Pause. Start at the thumb again. Five up, five down. Five up, five down.

He takes a few deep breaths as he starts to settle. He digs into his pocket and pulls out the small tube that they’d put some of the pomade in. He unscrews the lid and holds it by his nose, breathing in that familiar scent. For a wonderful moment, the smell covers the medical smell. He squeezes some out onto his finger and rubs it on his upper lip, right under his nose. When he closes his eyes, all he can smell is the pomade. Immediately, that scent reminds him of Brooklyn and sweltering summer afternoons getting ready for a date in front of the tiny mirror above the sink, Steve making fun of him behind his back.

He becomes aware of Steve holding the clipboard towards him. “You gotta sign the bottom, Buck.”

Bucky glances the form over. His eyes catch on his date of birth, which Steve has written as March 10, 1987. He wants to tell Steve that he appreciates the foresight—the last thing he wants to do is answer questions if he puts down his real date of birth—but he can’t seem to get the words lined up properly in his head.

He makes some scribbles on the line Steve is pointing at before letting Steve take the clipboard and pen back. Then Bucky goes back to counting on Steve’s left hand.

Steve’s looking at Bucky, trying to catch his eye. Bucky’s busy staring at Steve’s hand as he continues moving through his fingers, counting up and counting down.

“Buck, are we a go or no? Nobody’s gonna be mad if it’s a no. I’ll make an excuse,” he whispers.

Bucky clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “I can do it.”

Steve looks at him for another moment, but when Bucky gives him a small glare and squeezes his index finger a bit too tightly, Steve gets the message.

“Mandeep? We’re done with the form.”

She re-appears and takes the form, reading it over. “Alright, everything seems to be in order,” she gives them a smile. “If you’re ready, we’ll head into one of the cubicles and get started.”

They get up, Bucky keeping a tight hold of Steve’s hand and discreetly slipping the tube of pomade into Steve’s pocket as they walk. They follow her down a short hallway and stop at the first cubicle. Bucky peers inside. There aren’t any windows and the walls nearly reach up to the ceiling, but there’s no door shutting the cubicle off from the hallway. He appreciates that she chose the cubicle closest to the front door.

There’s a counter running along the back wall that’s covered in medical equipment with drawers underneath, and a rolling cart sits in the corner, stuffed full of equipment.

Most of the room is taken up by the enormous chair in the center of it, a bright light hanging from the ceiling above it.

Bucky feels panic welling up in his chest and he freezes, barely able to draw a breath.

_“Prep him.”_

_“He’s been out of cryo-freeze too long.”_

_“Then wipe him and start over.”_

The click of the metal restraints snapping shut over his arms and wrists, the taste of the rubber mouth guard being shoved in, the hum of the machine starting and then the crackle of electricity as the machine is lowered over his—

Suddenly, another smell invades his senses. Pomade. That’s definitely pomade. The smell of pomade belongs in Brooklyn with Steve. It certainly doesn’t belong in the place where there’s fear and pain.

“Buck? Can you hear me?”

Bucky shakes his head firmly, blinks, stamps his feet and forces his numb fingers to start counting through the fingers of the hand that he’s still clutching. Steve’s hand. Start at the thumb. 1…2…3…4…5. Pause. Start at the pinky finger. 5…4…3…2…1. Pause. Repeat.

He realizes that he’s crouching on the floor, breathing hard and Steve has the open tube of pomade in front of Bucky’s nose, while his other hand is hanging limp in Bucky’s grasp as he counts.

It takes some time until Bucky feels in control enough to look around. Steve squeezes out some pomade on a finger and wipes it on Bucky’s upper lip. Mandeep is nowhere in sight.

“Did I hurt her?” Bucky breathes out, immediately horrified at the thought.

“No. I told her to give us some space. How you doing?”

“It’s the stupid chair. And the smell.”

“I know, pal. I’m so sorry.”

“What the hell are you apologizing for, Rogers? It ain’t you who made me scared of chairs like this.”

Bucky focuses on getting his breathing under control. He keeps counting up and down Steve’s fingers. Five up, five down. Five up, five down. The smell of pomade is overriding that medical stench.

He’s beyond grateful that he’d listened to Jemisha when she’d insisted on practicing grounding techniques. Technically he’s supposed to count on his own hand, but he doesn’t like counting on the metal hand, and he isn’t confident that he won’t accidentally crush his right fingers if he tries it with his left hand while panicking. Jemisha advised him against depending on somebody else for his grounding techniques, but he ignored her.

He’d explained to Steve that all he needed was Steve’s two hands: one for counting and the other to get the pomade under Bucky’s nose.

Bucky slowly pushes himself up, holding Steve’s hand tightly. He stares hard at the chair, trying to stay calm. He moves towards it and releases Steve’s hand as he touches the chair tentatively.

Taking a deep breath, he carefully sits down on the very end of it. He’s pleasantly surprised at how soft it is. He looks around the silent office, forcing himself to stay focused and present. He’s fine. He’s in a dentist’s office, not a Hydra lab. He’s in a dentist’s office with Steve, who won’t let anybody hurt him. He’s fine. This will be fine.

He gestures for Steve to step closer and then shifts back so he’s sitting more firmly on the chair. Steve is at his shoulder, his hands within easy grabbing distance.

“Stevie, talk to me. Tell me this is gonna be okay,” he whispers. He doesn’t mean to whisper but it seems his voice has other ideas.

Steve also keeps his voice low, but probably out of privacy considerations. “It’s gonna be okay, Buck. I promise. I won’t let her hurt you. I’ll be here the whole time. You’re being so brave right now. I’m so proud of you. We’re at the dentist and I won’t let her hurt you, I promise. She just wants to help you so your teeth will stop hurting. You’re being so brave. I love you, Buck. I love you so much. I won’t let her hurt you, I promise.”

Bucky lets Steve’s words wash over him in a soothing wave. He slowly shifts back until he’s leaning against the back of the chair. He puts his arms on the armrest, but immediately, the clink of metal restraints echoes in his head and he yanks his arms up, his heart hammering again.

Steve holds out both hands, not touching him but making his hands accessible. Bucky blindly grasps through the air and grabs Steve’s closest hand. 1…2…3…4…5…pause…5…4…3…2…1. He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing in deeply and inhaling the smell of pomade.

“You don’t have to put your arms on the armrests, Buck, you can just keep your hands in your lap if you want.”

Bucky rests his right hand—still clutching Steve’s—in his lap and wedges the metal arm between his side and the armrest. He looks up at Steve, who’s trying to look calm and in control, but whose eyes are wide with worry.

“I’m okay, Stevie. I’ll be okay. You can call the doctor back in.”

Steve softly calls Mandeep back in, who comes in slowly with a reassuring smile. “How’s it going, James?”

“Sorry for freaking out earlier.”

“Don’t be sorry. A lot of people don’t like having medical procedures done.”

Bucky gives a wry laugh at that. “What’s next?”

“Usually I’d lower the chair back, but if you prefer, I can do a preliminary examination with you sitting up.”

Bucky nods.

“Do you want me to turn on the television or the radio?”

Bucky mulls it over. He can’t stand modern music and there was a Hydra technician who always listened to classical music, so he doesn’t like most of today’s offerings. “The television would be good. Do you have the house channel?”

“Sorry, the what?”

Steve tells her the actual name of the channel that has their favourite house renovation and house hunting shows and she disappears to turn on the television that’s above their heads. Bucky can’t see it from this angle but he realizes it’s positioned so somebody lying on their back on the chair would be able to view it clearly.

Immediately, a familiar voice drifts out of the television and fills the cubicle. Bucky recognizes the soothing voice of the female host and realizes it’s that show for first time home buyers. Steve adores her. The host is always so nice and patient with the buyers, even if they’re being idiots and wanting a five bedroom house for the cost of peanuts. Bucky sighs quietly, already feeling more comfortable. They often watch this show in the mornings while making breakfast.

Mandeep reappears and sits down on one of the rolling chairs. She pushes the other rolling chair towards Steve, who has a seat, letting Bucky keep hold of one hand while the other rests on the armrest.

“I’m going to let you know everything I do before I do it and ask for your permission before I proceed. If you want me to stop, either tell me to stop, or gesture with your hands. Is that okay?”

Bucky nods. Steve squeezes the hand that’s on his lap, letting him know he’s right there with him.

 “Alright, can I clip a bib around your neck so we don’t get your shirt messy?”

Bucky nods and leans forward, allowing her to clip the paper bib around his neck. The chain stays nice and loose.

She fusses with the rolling cart full of her tools for a moment and pulls a mask and googles over her face. Bucky twitches slightly, not liking it when her face becomes more anonymous, but she gives him a reassuring smile which he realizes he can recognize even with the mask on. The Hydra technicians never smiled at him. She pulls some type of apparatus over her head, which includes a bright light by her eyes that shines into Bucky’s face and two magnifying glasses that sit in front of her googles.

He blinks rapidly, trying to stave off panic. With the bright light shining by her eyes, her face becomes obscured and she looks indistinguishable from the Hydra technicians.

He becomes aware that he’s breathing too quickly and his heart is pounding and he’s edged away from her, towards Steve. Steve notices something was wrong and wraps an arm around him, rubbing his back. Bucky turns his head and presses his face into Steve’s shoulder. He can’t stop shaking.

“What’s wrong, Buck? Is it the chair?”

Bucky shakes his head. “There’s—there’s too many things on her face,” he whispers. “I can’t see her face. I need—I can’t see her face.”

Mandeep overhears his whispered mumblings. “How about if I don’t wear this?” She pulls the black apparatus with the light and the magnifying glasses off her head.

Bucky blinks up at her. Now he can see her face. “Don’t you need the magnifying glasses?”

She shrugs. “They’re helpful but I can do the examination without it.”

“Can you use the thing without the light on? If the light’s on I can’t see you face and I get—confused.”

She nods and pulls it back on and turns off the small light. Right away, Bucky feels better. When the light isn’t on, he can see much more of her face despite the mask and googles. The small magnifying glasses are so small that he barely notices them.

She reaches above his head and pulls down a light that’s attached to a long arm coming from the ceiling. She turns it on and angles it so it’s shining into Bucky’s mouth and not his face.

“How’s that, James?”

Steve’s rubbing his thumb over their clasped hands.

“Much better. Thank you.”

Mandeep nods and slides her chair closer to him again.

The beginning is relatively simple. She has Bucky open his mouth and holds up a little mirror tool.

“I’m going to use this to look around your mouth, James. Do you want to move it around your mouth yourself to get used to it?”

Bucky reluctantly releases Steve’s hand, who flattens his hand and rubs his belly. Bucky takes the metal tool from her and inspects it before he sticks it into his mouth. He moves it around. It feels weird but there isn’t any pain.

Nodding, he hands it back to her.

“Can I use it to look around your mouth?”

He nods again and she leans a bit closer and starts gently moving the tool around. Bucky thinks she probably isn’t getting any important information at first, since she spends time running the tool back and forth along his gums. He realizes she’s letting him get used to the sensation.

He forces his eyes to stay open, knowing if he shuts them, he’ll forget where he is and think that Mandeep is a Hydra technician about to shove the mouth guard in or rip out a rotting tooth.

His hand goes back to his lap where Steve’s hand is waiting. Five up, five down.

Mandeep gradually starts poking around a bit more, going deeper into his mouth. When she asks him to open his mouth wider, he tenses, feeling panic creeping up again, but Steve starts murmuring how they’re okay, Mandeep doesn’t want to hurt him, nobody is going to hurt him. Bucky rubs his upper lip against his nose, bringing a fresh wave of pomade scent up his nose. When he’s calmed down, he tentatively opens his mouth wider. There’s no rubber mouth guard shoved in and there’s no pain. He gives a nod to indicate that Mandeep can proceed and she spends several minutes looking around in his mouth.

Then it’s time for x-rays. She makes a face and apologizes.

“To do it, I have to put these hard plastic things into your mouth. They’re not comfortable. We also have to put a heavy lead apron on you to protect you from the x-rays. Lastly, Steve can’t stay in here while we do it.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, I’m staying.”

“Steve—”

“I’ll sign whatever you need me to sign to release you from liability. So will James. But I’m not leaving. And let’s leave the heavy apron out of it. We’ll sign a form for that too.”

She reluctantly agrees and goes to get some forms. Steve signs them and points to where Bucky has to sign and he makes some scribbles on the line. In the meantime, she gives Bucky the plastic apparatus that he will have to bite down on. She explains that during the x-ray, he’ll have to stay perfectly still, so Bucky spends the time Steve needs to fill out the forms chewing on the plastic thing, moving it around in his mouth and practicing putting it where Mandeep needs it to go.

When he deems himself ready and they’ve signed everything, she has him move the plastic thing to where she needs it and pulls the small x-ray machine close to his jaw.

“Okay, perfect. Now, don’t move.”

She disappears while Bucky and Steve both remain frozen, listening to the familiar voice of the television show host explaining to the young couple wanting to buy a house that they shouldn’t base their purchasing decision on whether or not they like the color of the front door.

They hear a little click from the machine, and then Mandeep’s back, instructing him to move the plastic thing into another position while she moves the machine.

Once the pictures are done, she turns Bucky’s chair around so all three of them are facing a computer screen where his x-rays are displayed.

“Alright, I have enough information to give you an idea of what work needs to be done.”

She explains the immediate need to remove the remaining rotting teeth. She also shows them on the x-ray that multiple teeth have been broken off, but many of their roots remain within the gum. Those remnants will also have to be removed. Bucky can see Steve going a bit pale when he sees the x-ray showed in stark detail exactly how much damage Bucky’s mouth has sustained over the years. He discreetly squeezes Steve’s hand.

“Unfortunately, when all those teeth have been removed, you’ll be left with very few teeth, but it needs to be done. If you do nothing, they will continue becoming infected and they will eventually fall out after causing you pain.”

“What will happen once we’ve taken all of those out?” Bucky asks.

She explains their options and recommends that they consider dental implants. They are the most expensive, but the most permanent and comfortable solution. If that isn’t an option for them, she suggests dentures.

She gives them a smile. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. The first step needs to be removing the damaged teeth and we’ll go from there.”

“If you don’t mind, I don’t think I’m ready for any teeth pulling today,” Bucky says.

She smiles gently. “Of course. No problem. That would involve localized anesthesia and lot of equipment and procedures that can be overwhelming. I wanted to suggest that we spend some more time getting you comfortable with my proximity to you and letting me do a bit of cleaning.”

She shows him some other tools and lets him put them in his mouth and poke around. He allows her to work on his front teeth, gently scraping and tapping on his teeth. He’s starting to get a bit more accustomed to the smell of plastic from her gloves and focuses on not shrinking back when she starts leaning closer.

Then she shows him a suction tool which Bucky guesses is to prevent him from choking on his saliva or drooling all over himself. Bucky wishes Hydra had used one of those. She puts it on its weakest setting and lets him stick it into his mouth. He amuses himself by sticking his tongue to it and tapping it against the inside of his cheek while Steve chuckles at him. She gradually increases the suction and it gets louder but Bucky continues playing with it, keeping himself focused and calm.

Finally, she asks if they can try tilting the chair back a bit more. They go in increments: tilting the chair back a few degrees, Mandeep scraping and poking around in his mouth, Bucky holding the suction tube in place, then the chair is lowered a bit more.

When he’s finally lying horizontally, he starts tensing up, but Steve’s hand is right there on his belly, letting him count. Mandeep must have seen the anxiety on his face because she pulls back, rolling her chair backwards, her hands and tools moving away from him.

Steve dabs some more pomade under Bucky’s nose and quietly murmurs reassurances. Once Bucky’s calmed enough, he gives Mandeep a nod and she slowly moves back in.

It’s incredibly disorientating to have a masked figure bending over him while he’s reclined on a chair with the bright light shining in his face, but he can smell the pomade and feels Steve’s hand in his. Steve’s other hand is stroking Bucky’s hair and he’s murmuring into Bucky’s ear.

Then Bucky looks up, past the bright light and recognizes the host of the home inspection show on the television. He realizes he’s been on the chair long enough for the property hunting show to have ended. He can’t hear what the host saying over the suction tool and Steve’s murmuring, but he’d rather listen to Steve anyway. The host is gesturing at a wall inside a dark closet that’s covered in dark mold. Lovely.

He focuses on all the other things around him and doesn’t let himself drift away. He finds it also helps if he moves his arms and legs around from time to time, reminding himself that he’s not restrained and can get up anytime.

Mandeep continues to do some cleaning while Bucky holds the suction tool and Steve is his anchor.

Finally, she leans back and raises his chair. “Alright, I think we’ve done enough for today, gentlemen.”

Bucky removes the suction tool and hands it to her as she puts her tools away. Once he’s upright in his chair, he squeezes Steve’s hand and brings it to his lips for a discreet kiss while Mandeep is busy with her tools.

Steve looks tired and he stretches his arms once Bucky releases his hand, but he doesn’t let his eyes stray from Bucky and he’s smiling proudly.

Bucky rolls his shoulders and scoots to the end of the chair while Mandeep continues cleaning up and making notes on the computer. Bucky undoes the bib around his neck and hands it to her.

“Thank you, James. Alright, gentlemen, shall we head to the front?”

Once Bucky stands up, he can feel how exhausted he is. He sees the clock on the wall and is shocked to realize it’s 8:45. He’d been in the chair for more than an hour.

All he wants to do is go home and sleep for the rest of the day. Possibly the rest of the year.

Bucky shuffles over to Steve, who also looks dead on his feet. Bucky drapes an arm around Steve’s shoulder and they lumber down the hallway to the front desk.

“You okay to drive home?” Bucky whispers into Steve’s ear.

Steve nods.

They both lean heavily on the front desk and Steve produces his credit card when she hands them the bill.

Bucky’s too exhausted to look at it, but grabs a copy of it once Steve has paid. He’s looking forward to fainting from the outrageous cost later.

Mandeep is smiling at him. “I think you should be proud of yourself, James. You did very well.”

Steve beams and pulls Bucky into his side. “Yes, he did.”

“And I want to say that you’re an incredible support system, Steve. I’ve had patients before who had difficulty with medical procedures and not a lot of them have somebody who’s willing to sit in a chair by their side for hours.”

Bucky grins at Steve. “I would say I’m willing to share my Steve with them, but that’s just not true. Everyone has to find their own Steve, unfortunately.”

Steve chuckles and puts his wallet into his pocket. “You’re being schmaltzy, Barnes.”

“Don’t care.”

Mandeep chuckles at them. “Have a good day and please give me call when you’re ready to discuss the next step.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky drawls as Steve turns them towards the door. Bucky’s arm draped over Steve’s shoulder is the only thing keeping him upright. He almost feels drunk.

They thank Mandeep and say their good byes and then they’re outside, putting on their helmets and Steve makes sure Bucky’s holding on to him properly when they’re on the bike.

Once they’re home, they stumble through the door, barely manage to change into their sleep wear and then they’re collapsing on Steve’s bed in a tangle of limbs and blankets.

They sleep until the afternoon.

*             *             *

Bucky wakes before Steve. He starts quietly shifting himself off the bed, hoping he doesn’t wake Steve.

No such luck. Steve stirs and sleepily blinks his eyes open.

Bucky leans over him and kisses him on the cheek. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll make us something to eat.”

Steve makes a sleepy, content noise in the back of his throat and burrows himself into the blankets.

Bucky gets up, pulls on one of Steve’s sweatpants and heads to the bathroom. He splashes some water on his face and then heads into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge and freezer and pulls out what he needs.

He decides to be lazy and throw some frozen stuffed chicken breasts into the oven. Preparing and stuffing a chicken breast is to damn hard to do one handed, and his left hand isn’t coordinated enough to do it. But he can chop vegetables, so he chops up some carrots and broccoli and lets those cook. He also peels some potatoes and gets those boiling. Once the potatoes are done, he gets out the butter and milk and turns them into mashed potatoes.

When he’s pulling out dishes from the cupboard, he hears Steve going into the bathroom and then he appears in the kitchen, coming up behind Bucky. He wraps his arms around Bucky and sleepily nuzzles his neck.

“Morning, Stevie.”

“It’s a little past morning.”

Bucky shrugs and carefully transfers pieces of chicken from the baking sheet to the plates. He adds some vegetables and a large mound of mashed potatoes to each plate.

“That smells real good, Buck.”

“You should contact the wonderful people who created the pre-frozen version and tell them.”

Steve laughs. Bucky carefully lifts up the plates and slowly turns around, starting a slow shuffle towards the couch, Steve still plastered to his back.

Once they get to the couch, Bucky puts the plates on the coffee table, then sighs, realizing they forgot the cutlery.

He slowly wanders back to the kitchen, Steve breathing into his ear as he goes, clinging to him like an octopus.

They get the cutlery and shuffle back to the couch. Bucky sits down, squishing Steve between his back and the couch, laughing at the annoyed grunt that comes from behind him. He untangles himself enough from Steve to grab his cutlery and plate.

Once Bucky leans back, Steve winds his arms around him again. It’s clear Steve wants to stay exactly where he is, so Bucky starts feeding both of them, one mouthful going to him, the next going to Steve, who’s resting with his chin on Bucky’s shoulder. They work their way through one plate, then the other.

Once they’re done and the plates and cutlery have been put on the coffee table, Steve wiggles them sideways until he’s lying down on the couch, Bucky on top of him, his back pressed to Steve’s front.

Bucky’s stroking Steve’s arms, which are clutching him as if he’s afraid Bucky’s going to run out on him any second.

“What’s wrong, Stevie?”

He can feel Steve shrugging. “Nothing.”

“It’s definitely something. Tell me.”

“You were so brave today, I don’t wanna spoil it.”

Bucky jabs him lightly in the ribs with his elbow. “You won’t. I feel really good. I’m proud of myself and I think it went really well. Without you there or the grounding stuff, I would have been a complete mess, but I felt okay most of the time. Not great, but okay. I think when we go more times and I get more used to the chair and things, it’ll get even easier.” He pauses and then turns his head, kissing the only part of Steve he can access, which happens to be his chin. “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

Steve sighs softly into Bucky’s hair. “You were the one who did all the hard work today, Buck. I don’t have any right to be upset or having a hard time—”

Bucky jabs him in the ribs again. “You stop that. Just because something’s hard for me doesn’t mean it can’t be hard for you too. Stop pretending you gotta be made out of stone. You were tough as nails this morning when I needed you to be, but we ain’t at the dentist anymore. Besides—remember we promised to communicate better? Do you wanna talk to Sam or somebody else?”

“No.”

“Then talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Steve’s silent for a long moment, lightly stroking Bucky’s belly, the same way he had done at the dentist.

“I was looking at you on that chair and seeing Mandeep leaning over you with all those tools, and I started thinking about all those horrible people and the terrible things they did to you. I hate that you had to go through that, Buck. I hate it. You’re so brave and so strong and you don’t like telling me the details, and I get that, I do. But it just means when I see some of the details, like seeing how scared you were of the chair, and seeing those x-rays, it gets to me. How can people treat someone like that? _How_? I just don’t get it. And I hate that this isn’t something I’m reading in the paper, you know? Something that happened to other people, but it’s something that happened to you. I know that’s a bit awful, but if I had to choose, I would wish it happened to anybody except you.”

Bucky’s stroking the arms that have tightened around him. “I’m okay now, Stevie.”

Steve draws in a shuddering breath. “I know that—”

“No, I mean, that’s what you gotta wrap your head around. It’s what Jemisha told me. When people go through terrible things—things that can’t be explained or justified, the only way to move on is to remember that they survived and they’re now safe and living new lives. Otherwise they get stuck and they can’t move on.”

Steve is quiet. Bucky hopes it’s because he’s listening. “I got away from them, and then you helped keep them away from me. You gave me a new life, and everyday I’m putting more pieces of that life together. You gotta focus on that. You can’t get stuck in the past.”

“It’s hard, Buck. When someone you love suffers like that, it’s hard to just let it go.”

“You don’t gotta let it all go. You just gotta spend more time focusing on today than yesterday. The reason I’m okay right now after everything that happened this morning is because I’m thinking about how awesome we did. We made it through getting there, the x-rays, the cleaning, even the chair being lowered. That’s awesome. We did so awesome. I’m thinking about that, not about what happened all those other times I sat in chair like that. Makes sense?”

When Steve doesn’t respond, Bucky jostles them a bit. “Hello? Rogers? Makes sense?”

Steve chuckles and nuzzles Bucky’s hair. “Yeah, it does, Barnes.”

They’re quiet for a while, tummies full and bodies still sleepy from that morning.

“You did awesome today, Buck.”

“ _We_ did awesome today,” Bucky corrects.

“We did.”

Bucky smiles. “Can you believe she lowered the chair all the way?”

Steve groans. “I thought I was gonna have a heart attack, to be honest.”

“Did you like listening to your favourite host on the television?”

“It felt like she had come to the dentist with us,” he laughs, then sighs. “We’re ridiculous.”

“Nah. We’re just special. Like your ma always said.”

“Buck, honestly, the older I get, the more I’m starting to suspect that ma didn’t mean that as the compliment we always took it as.”

“Shut up, Rogers. Quit destroying cherished childhood memories. I have so few of them. ‘Sides, don’t speak ill of the dead.”

Steve laughs again. “I think she was the one speaking ill of us first.”

“Hush up, punk.”

“Jerk.”

“Hey, Stevie?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for coming with me today.”

“Nowhere else I wanted to be.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful comments and kudos! Your continued support means the world to me!

When he opens his eyes and glances at the clock by his bed, Bucky sees he’s been napping for about two hours. He sleeps through most of the night now but he almost always ends up falling asleep after Steve gives him a massage, no matter what time of day it is.

He groans softly as he props himself up on his elbows and gently rotates his head, testing out the muscles in his neck and shoulders which had been screaming with pain a few hours before. The pain is down to a dull throb. Not perfect but as good as it ever got with the stupid arm.

He pushes himself up and slides out of bed. He stops by the bathroom and then wanders into the living room.

Steve’s sitting at the kitchen table, the laptop and his sketchpad on the table. Bucky comes up behind him and wraps his right arm around Steve’s chest, resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Hey there, dollface,” he mumbles into Steve’s shoulder.

Steve smiles, his eyes not leaving his sketchpad. He’s carefully shading something with a red colored pencil.

“Hey yourself. Feeling better?”

“Yeah. What are you up to?” Bucky glances at the laptop and sees a picture taking up most of the screen. The picture looks vaguely familiar. “Hey, isn’t that one of the pictures from the art museum?”

“Yup. I can’t get the man’s skin tone right. I wanted to practice before next class.”

“I think the problem is the painting’s so damn old that the paint color’s changed to something that can’t be copied.”

Steve chuckles and switches to an orange pencil. “Thanks for the ego boost, Buck, but it is possible. Three people in class got it the last class and we just have one more class to finish this.”

Bucky kisses him on the cheek and pushes off him. “Alright, don’t let me disturb you.”

Steve drops the pencil and reaches back, pulling Bucky back to him. “You’re not disturbing me. I’ve been working on this for the past two hours and I still can’t get it. I’m sick of looking at the man’s face anyway.”

“You wanna take a break, darling?” Bucky purrs into his ear.

Steve looks up at him. “What did you have in mind?”

Bucky smirks down at him and rubs Steve’s chest. “Well, I did have a specific plan in mind for tonight…”

“Oh, and what would that be?”

Bucky’s hand moves further down, rubbing Steve’s belly. “Well, I was feeling a bit lonesome tonight.”

Steve grins. “Were you? I can’t imagine you feeling lonesome, Sergeant Barnes. Good looking fella like you.”

“Being good looking is only half the battle. I’m always having a tough time finding the right company.”

Steve bites his lower lip. “Are you hoping I might be the right kind of company?”

Bucky smiles and moves his hand even lower, cupping Steve’s cock through his sweatpants. Steve sucks in a startled breath as Bucky squeezes him.

“I was hoping you might be.”

Steve briefly closes his eyes, cock hardening under Bucky’s rubbing hand. “I—I don’t know—I don’t know if I’m that kind of girl, Sergeant,” he mumbles, barely making it through the words.

Bucky leans down so his chin is on Steve’s shoulder again and squeezes Steve’s cock, feeling it twitch under his hand. “That’s alright, since I wasn’t looking for you to be my girl tonight anyway.”

Steve manages a little smile and loses the battle against self-restraint and covers Bucky’s hand with his own, pressing their hands into his cock and thrusting up into the pressure.

“Is that right? Why’s that?” he gasps out.

Bucky turns his head so he’s whispering right into Steve’s ear. “Because I was hoping you’d fuck me.” He squeezes Steve’s cock for emphasis.

Steve groans, thrusting up into their hands a few more times. “You gonna take me somewhere nice first? I ain’t making time with you on a kitchen chair.”

“You’ve made time with me on the couch and on the kitchen counter. Suddenly you’ve got standards?”

Steve mock glares at him. “You shouldn’t be insulting the man who’s got the equipment you’re wanting to use.”

Bucky laughs into Steve’s ear and brushes a kiss over his cheek. “Please accept my apologies.” He stands up, reluctantly pulling his hand from Steve’s groin. He extends the hand towards Steve.

“You ready to go, dollface?”

Steve gives him his hand and lets Bucky pull him up. He brings his other hand to Bucky’s face and kisses him. “I believe I am. Lead the way, Sergeant.”

Holding Steve’s hand, Bucky leads him down the hallway to his bedroom. They shut the door behind them, mindful of potentially having Alina wander into their apartment.

They toss off their clothes and Bucky grabs the lube from the drawer by his bed while Steve collapses on the bed on his back. Through trial and error, they have discovered that Bucky prefers being on top, facing Steve whenever they’re in any intimate situation. He doesn’t like having Steve looming over him, afraid that he’ll forget where he is and accidentally hurt Steve, who would have his guard down, not expecting an attack. Massages are fine, since Steve is behind him and Bucky stays in a calm, relaxed state, automatically grounding himself. But grounding isn’t exactly conducive to sexual activity, so they’ve decided to keep Bucky on top for the time being.

Bucky crawls onto the bed, straddling Steve and bracing himself on either side of Steve’s head. Steve reaches up and pulls him down to kiss him.

Bucky groans and sucks Steve’s tongue into his mouth, slotting his cock into the crease of Steve’s thigh and thrusting slowly. Steve slings a leg over Bucky’s ass, pulling him in closer.

“God, Buck,” Steve breathes out in between kisses.

Bucky sucks a line of kisses down Steve’s neck and Steve tangles a hand in Bucky’s hair, cursing up at the ceiling.

It’s so easy to get lost in kissing Steve that Bucky’s well on his way to forgetting what he wanted to do tonight. That’s not part of the plan. He sits up, feeling Steve’s cock rubbing against his ass, a perfect reminder of his plan.

“I had a plan, pal. You’re interfering.”

Steve laughs, gasping for breath. “Sorry. Do you need me to leave you alone? I’m obviously a distraction.”

Bucky snorts a laugh, flicking Steve on the nose. Steve immediately tries to nip his fingers and Bucky chuckles quietly when he misses. When he sees the sparkle in Steve’s eyes, he can’t help but lean down for a few more kisses.

Then he gets refocused and sits back up. He pops open the bottle of lube and Steve reaches up to help him squeeze some on his right hand, then coats his own hand. Bucky reaches behind his back and runs a finger down his crack. He circles his hole and slides in the tip of a finger. His eyes slide closed as he thrusts the finger in deeper. He feels Steve’s hand on his cock, stroking him and rubbing the slit. Bucky slips in a second finger. They’ve done this multiple times and Bucky knows he can come just from his fingers and Steve’s hand on him, but he has other plans.

He pulls his fingers out, scoots back and rubs lube on Steve’s cock, jerking him while Steve mutters a curse, mouth falling open. Grinning, Bucky lines himself up and slowly lowers himself onto Steve’s cock.

He stops after a few inches. There’s a burn and the stretch is a lot more than the fingers had been. He stays where he is, using his arms to brace himself. Steve is frozen beneath him, eyes wide.

Damn, maybe he should have spent a little more time stretching himself.

“Buck?” Steve breathes out.

“I’m okay. It’s a bigger stretch than I thought. Give me a minute,” he manages to force out through a clenched jaw. He takes a few deep breaths and looks down at Steve, who’s not moving a muscle, not knowing what Bucky needs or wants.

“Touch me, Stevie.”

Steve reaches up and strokes his cock. Pleasure creeps through the burn, and after a few minutes, the burn starts receding. Bucky carefully slides down a bit further, feeling more of Steve’s cock filling him. Steve is keeping himself still except for the hand that’s working Bucky’s cock.

“Buck, if you wanna stop—”

“I’m sitting on you, pal, so if I wanted to stop, I could. Don’t worry. It’s getting better.”

He slowly lowers himself more until he’s sitting on Steve’s pelvis, feeling Steve’s balls brushing his ass. Leaning forward, he braces his arms on either side of Steve’s face and gently lifts himself up, then slides back down. He settles into a slow rocking motion. The burn is definitely being replaced by pleasure now. He feels a tingle at the base of his spine and his cock twitches and regains the hardness it had lost.

He gradually increases his rhythm and shifts his weight on his hands. That shifts the angle of Steve’s cock and when he slides down, he feels his body light up.

“Oh! Oh, Christ,” he gasps.

“Buck?”

Bucky opens his eyes and grins down at Steve, who’s still not moving except for his hand. Bucky can feel the tremble in his thighs from the enormous effort it’s taking for him to stay still. “Buddy, that feels amazing.”

“That was the right spot?”

“Oh, was that ever,” Bucky breathes out, rocking up and down, Steve’s cock brushing that sweet spot on each pass. Bucky settles into a faster rhythm. Damn, he feels good.

Realizing Steve is still frozen beneath him, Bucky slows and stares down at Steve. He leans down and kisses him. Steve seems reluctant to kiss him back, probably afraid of moving a muscle unless Bucky specifically requests it.

“Stevie, it feels amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Really amazing. You feel so good in me.”

“You feel pretty good too.”

Bucky grins and clenches around Steve’s cock. Steve lets out a surprised shout, his leg kicking out and nearly sending Bucky sprawling.

“Hey! Rogers!”

Steve laughs, his body trembling. “God, Buck, I can’t help it if you do things like that! You have no idea how good that feels. But Jesus, unless you want me to come in the next two seconds, you’re not gonna do that again anytime soon.”

Bucky chuckles and leans down to kiss him. They lose themselves to kissing for a while, until Bucky starts rocking again, slowly riding Steve’s cock.

“Hey, Rogers?”

“Yeah?” Steve mumbles into his mouth.

“You gonna keep making me do all the work?”

“Well, I don’t know, it ain’t seem like you need any help up there.”

Bucky gives a quick clench and Steve swears again, remembering to grab a hold of Bucky’s hips to keep him in place this time.

Once Steve has calmed down, he laughs up at Bucky. “Alright, Barnes, if you want my help, you can’t be sitting on me like a bump on a log.”

Obediently, Bucky pushes himself up, bracing most of his weight on his arms. Steve has enough room to bend his knees and plant his feet on the bed. He gently starts thrusting upwards, keeping his thrusts swallow, eyes staring at Bucky’s face for any sign of discomfort.

Bucky moans. God, it feels amazing. When it’s clear that Steve won’t deepen his thrusts, Bucky starts meeting his upward thrusts with a downward slide, meeting him the middle.

Steve squeaks in surprise and Bucky huffs out a laugh. It takes a few tries but they establish a rhythm. They’ve never had a problem figuring out a rhythm between the two of them before, it figures sex wouldn’t be any different.

Bucky shifts himself, trying for different positions until most of Steve’s thrusts are hitting that spot inside him, lighting him up.

“Oh, oh, hot damn,” he gasps out.

“There?”

“Right there. And harder. Christ, Rogers, harder.”

They speed up, Steve slamming up into him faster, his eyes rolling back. “God, Buck, it—you—Jesus Christ—”

“Steve, touch me,” he manages to gasp out. He doesn’t think he’s coordinated enough not to fall over if he tried using his own hand. Thankfully, Steve manages to shove a hand between them and starts jerking him. The rhythm of Steve’s thrusting drops off when he’s focusing on stripping Bucky’s cock, but Bucky takes over, riding him hard.

He comes moments later with a surprised shout, feeling his orgasm slam through him, shooting all over Steve’s chest and hand. Steve releases his cock and focuses on thrusting again.

Bucky clenches Steve’s cock in time with Steve’s upwards thrusts, and Steve moans, gasping out variations of Bucky’s name and Jesus, and then he’s coming.

Bucky can feel hot cum filling him and he braces his arms, staying put until Steve is done.

Then Bucky lets himself collapse, feeling Steve’s softening cock slip from him. He manages to direct his fall so he lands half on Steve and half on his pillow, his legs tangled with Steve’s.

They lie still, struggling to catch their breath, both of them covered in sweat and cum.

“Jesus Christ, Barnes,” Steve mutters.

“Yeah, no kidding, Rogers.”

“That was something else.”

They lie in sleepy contentment for a while, until Steve groans. “We’re both disgusting. Why didn’t we grab some towels or something before we got started?”

Bucky licks his dry lips. “And water. I definitely need water.”

Steve laughs. “Good to know we’re so prepared.”

Bucky grins and reaches over to tilt Steve’s face towards him. He shifts over until he’s close enough to kiss him. He manages one kiss, but he’s breathing too hard to manage more, so he settles for rubbing his nose against Steve’s.

He’s thirsty, they both need a shower, his sheets are a mess and his back is aching again from the metal arm bracing his body up, but it was all worth it.

*             *             *

That week’s art class doesn’t go as well as Steve had hoped.

Despite his practicing, he doesn’t manage to get the skin tone of the portrait’s subject quite right. He tries it three times, but each attempt is worse than his last. He gets more anxious as time goes by—he imagines the instructor being disappointed each time he passed behind Steve, and Steve tries to stand in a way that blocks his canvas from the rest of the class’ prying eyes.

Lord, why can’t he get this right? He should have practiced more. He’s such an idiot.

But the practice probably wouldn’t have mattered. He probably won’t ever be able to do it. Why did they let him take this class anyway? He shouldn’t be here with these talented people.

He should stay home on the couch and sketch by himself. That’s the only place he deserves to be sketching.

He’s on the verge of tears and feels himself starting to get angry. Who cares about this stupid class anyway? Who cares if he doesn’t belong here—he doesn’t want to be here anyway. He’ll just go home and not come back.

He mumbles some excuse to the instructor about having to leave class early, packs up and hurries out of the museum. As he drives home, he manages to keep it together. Once the bike is parked, he heads towards the stairs and that’s when the tears win, sliding down his cheeks.

Stupid class. Stupid portrait.

Stupid class that he shouldn’t be allowed to keep going to.

He won’t go again. He isn’t allowed to be amongst such talented people when he can’t accomplish even simple tasks.

The thoughts whirl around and around and around in his head and he doesn’t even realize he’s in the apartment until he feels Bucky grab hold of his arms.

“Rogers, you okay? What happened?”

Steve has no desire to tell Bucky what a stupid loser he’s living with, so he shrugs him off and heads to his bedroom. He’s exhausted and he just wants to be left alone.

He barely has the energy to change into his sleepwear, then he’s collapsing into bed.

He tries dozing off, but his mind keeps spinning and spinning.

He endlessly replays what happened in class. The instructor being disappointed, the other students getting everything perfect. They must have laughed when he left. He can’t ever go back, that’s for sure. God, why did he agree to take that stupid class in the first place?

He hates all people, he hates all things, he hates the world in general.

Then he realizes what he hates most of all at the moment is himself.

He’s a stupid loser who shouldn’t even be allowed out in the world.

He replays the incident again. He wishes he could go back in time and practice even more, or maybe ask his instructor for help. Why didn’t he ask for help? Why? Why, why, why?

Well, obviously because he’s an idiot. That’s already been established.

The world is terrible and he’s even more terrible.

He desperately wants to start sleeping, but his mind won’t turn off and the more his mind whirls, the worse he feels and the more he cries.

“Stevie? Can I come in?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell Bucky to shut his door and leave him alone, but he manages to bite back that urge.

He needs to tell Bucky to come in and he needs to tell Bucky what’s going on in his head.

Communication.

He made that promise.

Right.

Great.

He shoves himself over and pulls down the blanket he’s got himself wrapped in. Bucky pads over to the bed and climbs in, spooning up behind Steve and pulling him into his arms.

“Are crazy thoughts running around in your head?”

Steve nods.

“Tell me what the crazy thoughts are saying,” Bucky whispers.

“They’re saying I’m loser who shouldn’t be allowed to take art class.”

Bucky kisses his neck. “Why?”

Steve sniffs and draws in a choppy breath. “I couldn’t get the portrait right. Everybody else did and they all laughed at me.”

“Did they really laugh?”

“Well. No. Not when I was there. But they probably did after I left.”

“I don’t think they did. I think everybody in that class really likes you and they wouldn’t laugh at anything you drew. I’ve seen you practicing that portrait, Stevie, and I know you didn’t make anything that somebody would laugh at.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t go back to the class. It’s a stupid class and I have better things to do.”

Bucky makes a clucking sound. “So first the crazy voice tells you that you’re not good enough for the class, right? Now it’s telling you that the class isn’t worth your time? That doesn’t make much sense to me.”

Steve sniffs a few more times, thinking it over. Bucky’s right—that doesn’t completely make sense. But that still doesn’t change the fact that he’s a loser.

“I still couldn’t do the drawing right.”

“I’m sorry about that, sweetheart, I really am, but that don’t mean you can’t go back to the class. It’s just a class for fun, remember? Sides, it ain’t a surprise that you’re having a tough time using colors. We never had the money to buy colored pencils when we were growing up. You’ve only been using colors for a few weeks. Of course it’s gonna take you time to get really good. Did you ask your instructor for help?”

“No. Because I’m an idiot.”

Bucky makes an annoyed sound and jostles them a bit. “Stop that, Rogers.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop calling yourself nasty things. Is the voice telling you to call yourself that?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky sighs. “You gotta remind that voice that you’re the boss, not it. It doesn’t get to decide whether to call you names.”

“I don’t know how to tell it I’m the boss. It’s in my head, Buck.”

“Sit up for a sec.”

Bucky pushes himself into a sitting position and hauls Steve up. He takes a handful of tissues from the bedside table and wipes Steve’s face, then squeezes his hands.

“I asked Jemisha about this and she gave me an idea of what could help. But you gotta take it seriously, okay? It’s gonna sound a bit silly at first.”

Steve sniffles and nods. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

“Okay. You gotta visualize that nasty voice as something external.”

Steve stared at him blankly. “Huh?”

“Like—like a nasty person or something. You gotta picture the voice coming from somebody or something that’s not in your head. So it’s outside your head.”

“Buck I’m really tired—”

“Damn, I’m not explaining this right.” He pauses. “Okay, okay. You know that kid show with the space rocket that’s on Saturday mornings?”

“The kid with his alien dog?”

“Yeah. And that creature they’re always fighting, that troll thing? Maybe picture that. Picture the troll thing is standing beside your bed, and it’s saying all those nasty things. Try that.”

Steve gives him a look. Bucky pokes him in the side. “Come on, just try it. If it doesn’t work, we’ll do something else.”

Steve dutifully looks at the air beside his bed. He has no trouble visualizing what the troll creature looks like, but imagining it saying the things that voice in his head is saying is harder.

“Buck, what’s the point?”

“You’ll see. Are you visualizing it?”

Steve imagines the troll creature standing there, arms crossed, evil grin on its face, telling him that he’s a loser and he shouldn’t be allowed to go to art class. Then it laughs.

It doesn’t make Steve feel any better. “Okay, now what?”

“Now yell at him to shut up. You can yell at him in your head or say it out loud.”

Steve stares at the troll.

Be quiet, he thinks.

The troll is still laughing at him.

“It’s still laughing at me, Buck.”

“Be more forceful.”

Shut up, he thinks.

The troll laughs.

Shut up!

Laughter.

Now Steve’s getting mad. Shut up, shut up, _shut up_!

Abruptly, the troll stops laughing. All that’s in Steve’s head is the ringing echoes of his mental shouting.

“Okay, he’s quiet.”

“Now tell him to get out of the room.”

Steve stares at the troll, who’s staring at him.

Get out.

Get out, get out, get out, _get out_!

The troll glares at him and walks out of the room.

“Okay, he’s outside.”

Bucky hops off the bed, hurries to the door and slams it shut. Then he turns to Steve, grinning.

“You did, Stevie! How you feeling?”

He considers. His head…it’s—it’s quiet. Huh.

That voice has gone silent.

“It’s quiet.” He starts grinning. “It worked, Buck!”

Bucky bounds back to the bed and wraps Steve in a big hug. “Good job, sweetheart! I knew you could do it!”

Steve basks in his triumph for a moment, until he starts frowning. “Wait.”

“What?”

“Buck, how did that work? There’s no troll. There’s nobody sitting out there in hallway. It was all just in my head. I’m not crazy.”

Bucky laughs. “I know. I asked Jemisha the same thing. She says that when the depression and anxiety get going, they feed off each other and the negative thoughts just whirl around and around and around like a merry-go-round. Doing the visualization and the yelling gives your brain something new to do. It forces the merry-go-round to stop. You’re disrupting the negative thought patterns.”

Steve smiles. He’s still exhausted, but at least his brain’s quiet.

“That’s pretty neat.”

“Yup. With practice it’ll get even easier.”

“Buck, I’m still really tired.”

Bucky smiles gently. “Alright, time for a nap. You worked hard throwing troll out of here, you deserve some rest.”

They lie back down, Steve snuggling into Bucky and the blankets.

He doesn’t feel as good as he does on his good days, but he definitely feels better than he did before Bucky had come in.

When they wake up from their nap, Bucky puts together an ice cream sundae in a big bowl and brings it back to bed with two spoons. They eat the entire things curled up in bed together, then Bucky reads to him from the last Harry Potter book they’re making their way through.

*             *             *

The smell of frying bacon pulls Steve from sleep. He blinks his eyes open and sleepily tosses the covers off himself. The big empty bowl and two spoons sit on the table by his bed.

Steve does feel better this morning. As always, the situation doesn’t seem as dire and soul crushing as it had yesterday. It’s just one drawing and they aren’t graded on their work. Technically, Steve can go back to the museum whenever he wants and try it again as many times as he wants.

He can’t believe his brain turned it into such a huge deal yesterday.

He gets up, changes his clothes and wanders into the bathroom in his sweatpants and Hulk slippers. When he’s done, he heads into the kitchen, where he’s greeted by Alina sitting at the kitchen table, Suzy on the floor by her feet and Bucky at the stove.

“Good morning everybody,” Steve says, giving Alina a kiss on the cheek. She smiles and lightly pinches his cheek.

“Good morning, Steve. Sleep good?”

“Yes, I did.” He crouches down and scratches Suzy behind the ears, who happily thumps her tail on the floor. Pushing himself up, he goes up to Bucky and wraps his arms around him.

“Morning,” he mumbles into his neck, brushing his hair out of the way so he can kiss his neck properly.

Bucky tilts his head, bumping their heads together in greeting. His left hand’s holding the frying pan in place while his right hand flips strips of bacon with a fork.

“Morning. Can you put my hair up, please?”

Steve looks around and spies an elastic on the coffee table. He grabs it and gently pulls Bucky’s hair back and puts it up in a bun.

Bucky gives him a hip bump in thanks. “You want breakfast?”

“Do I ever.”

“Plate’s on the table. Eggs are in the covered bowl and toast is by the toaster. Just pop some in. The bacon will be ready in a few minutes.”

Steve sighs happily and kisses his neck again. “I love you, you know that?”

Alina pipes up from behind them. “We all love James. I think you love James best, but we all love James.”

Steve chuckles and squeezes Bucky tighter. “That’s true. Nobody can love James better than I can.”

Bucky elbows him in the ribs gently. “Go sit down and quit being schmaltzy. That goes for everybody. You all just love me because I’m making you breakfast.”

Steve laughs and smacks a wet kiss onto Bucky’s cheek. “That’s not true. I also love you because you made me a sundae yesterday.”

“There’s a definite food theme going on there, Rogers.”

Steve releases Bucky and goes by the toaster to put in a few pieces, adding extra when Alina requests another. He swings by the fridge and pulls out the ketchup. Sitting down, he pours himself a glass of orange juice and helps himself to eggs and squirts some ketchup on the plate, chuckling at Alina’s displeased nose wrinkling. The toast pops out and Steve goes to retrieve it as Bucky brings the plate of bacon over, dropping a few strips on everybody’s plates. Suzy gets two strips under the table.

They’re sitting and eating when the intercom buzzes. Steve goes to get it, still chewing and holding a piece of toast in his hands. He pushes the button.

“Hello?”

“Morning, Cap.”

“Hey, Sam. Come on up.” Steve presses the button to let him and listens to Sam pushing the door open. He heads to the door, unlocks it and leaves it propped open, then heads back to the table.

Soon Sam wanders in, taking off his shoes and shutting the door. “Good morning, everybody. Wow, full house this morning, huh?”

He comes to the table and gives Steve a hug from behind and lays gentle hands on Bucky and Alina’s backs in greeting. Then he kneels down to say hello to Suzy while Steve goes to put more toast in.

“What time do you have to be at work, Sam?” Steve asks.

Sam sits down, helping himself to bacon and eggs and accepting the glass of juice Alina hands him.

“Thank you, Alina. Not until this afternoon.”

Bucky grins. “So that leaves you plenty of time to catch up to Steve and me on our run, huh?”

Sam shots him a glare, lifting his plate for the toast Steve is holding out. “You just keep running that mouth, Barnes. I prefer doing my running with my feet.”

“I can actually run all three pretty well—and I can run all three of them faster than you.”

Sam raises an eyebrow at Steve. “Rogers, you gonna let your boy keep talking to me like this?”

Steve shrugs dipping his toast in ketchup and taking a bite. “I’m staying out of this one. But if push comes to shove, you gotta know that I’m on Barnes’ side by default. It’s just the way it is.”

Bucky grins. “You wouldn’t wanna be messing with a hundred years of procedure, Wilson.”

Sam gives up and focuses on his breakfast.

Bucky chuckles and turns to Alina. “How’s the new pilates class, Alina?”

While Bucky and Alina chat about her yoga class, Steve asks Sam for an update on his new girlfriend, which sufficiently cheers him up.

When they’re done eating, everybody helps clean up and Steve and Bucky change into their running clothes, fill water bottles and everybody heads out. Alina and Suzy go in one direction and the other three head off the other way at a leisurely jogging pace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: The boys are going back to the dentist!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time to head back to the dentist! Please strap yourself in and grab your version of pomade before proceeding. Enjoy!

The next day, they head back to the dentist, but not for an actual appointment. Mandeep had called them and suggested that they come in and practice being in the chair and being around the equipment. She won’t charge them, and as long as the clinic isn’t busy, they’re free to take as much time as they want.

Bucky knows that has to get through at least two surgeries to get all the teeth removed that need to be extracted. He and Steve had discussed whether he should have the implants done or a set of dentures, but Bucky hadn’t been keen on the denture idea in the first place. His body sometimes makes him feel like he really is a hundred years old and dealing with dentures every day would only emphasize it. He tried asking Mandeep about the costs of doing the implants versus the dentures, but Steve had refused to let her tell him. Bucky knows the implants are expensive—probably hideously expensive—but he’s thrilled that Steve doesn’t even hesitate when he sees that Bucky wants the implants more than the dentures.

But in either case, they have to get through the surgeries to remove the old, damaged teeth first.

They go in at 9 am, Mandeep having reassured them that on a weekday, things stay quiet before noon. They greet Mandeep, she has them sign some papers—Bucky has no idea what for, but Steve had insisted on it—and she brings them into the cubicle furthest from the door so they won’t be disturbed by people coming and going.

Bucky has already shoved the tube of pomade into Steve’s hand and is holding onto Steve’s hand as they enter the cubicle. Mandeep shows them the equipment that she wants them to practice with and how to turn things on and off.

“Just be very careful when you’re moving the tools around your faces, especially the drill.”

While Bucky is more focused on the presence of the chair and working up the courage to sit down, Steve pays careful attention and thanks Mandeep before they’re left alone.

Bucky manages to sit in the chair faster than last time but he keeps the chair upright for the time being.

Steve sits on the rolling stool and then fusses with the tools on the rolling cart next to him.

“Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Can you put on the gloves? And the mask?”

Steve keeps his face neutral. “You sure?”

Bucky nods. He knows he’s risking getting confused, but he thinks if he starts associating the latex gloves and the mask with positive things, like them being on Steve, then he’ll have an easier time ignoring their presence. “It’ll help me get over it. Besides, if you’re gonna be here during the surgeries, they’ll make you wear the gloves and mask.”

Steve pulls on a pair of gloves and hooks the straps of a mask over his ears. He carefully holds up his hands and looks at Bucky, whose staring back at him. “This okay, Buck?”

It’s disorienting seeing Steve’s face behind that familiar surgical mask, but it’s Steve’s face, so the presence of the mask is less important.

Bucky reaches up and grasps Steve’s gloved hand, bringing their clasped hands to his lap. They stay like that for a few minutes, Bucky working on keeping his breathing even and staying in the present. If he lets his gaze linger on Steve’s gloves or the mask, he can feel the anxiety ratcheting upwards, but then he focuses on Steve’s eyes behind the mask and his heart rate slows again.

“Can you put the chair down a bit?”

Steve presses the button, letting the chair down an inch before stopping.

“More.”

Another inch.

Jesus, Bucky loves this man, but if he doesn’t start pushing himself—and Steve—they’re going to be here until tomorrow morning. “Go until I’m halfway down.”

Steve does as instructed. He’s reluctant, but willing to let Bucky lead the way. When Bucky’s half reclined, he gestures for Steve to lean in.

“Lean over me, Stevie.”

Steve props his elbows on the arm rest of Bucky’s chair and looms over him. Bucky blinks rapidly and starts counting on Steve’s hand. 1…2…3…4…5…pause…5…4…3…2…1.

Steve’s smiling behind his mask. “Hi, pal. How you doing?” His eyes are worried.

Bucky counts a few more times, then manages to relax a bit more, looking up at Steve. “I’m alright. It’s just you behind that mask, right?”

Steve reaches out his other hand and gives a small wave. “Yup. Just me.”

What a dork. “Alright, put me down all the way. Let’s get this mission started.”

Steve pushes the button and the chair goes all the way down. Bucky’s anxiety immediately rises when he sees the figure in the mask out of the corner of his eye. He fumbles for the hand that’s on his belly and starts counting.

He sees a familiar, ungloved hand coming towards his face, holding a tube. The smell of pomade fills his nose and he breathes it in. Pomade means Brooklyn, pomade means Steve.

He blinks and for the first time, he hears Steve’s voice in his ear. He’s telling him what a good job he’s doing, how brave he is, how they’re at the dentist and everything is gonna be alright.

He tilts his head and looks at Steve, focusing on his eyes behind the mask. “Stevie?”

“I’m right here, Buck. Take your time.”

Bucky counts some more until he’s calm enough to ask Steve to hand him the mirror tool. He moves it around his mouth a bit, before he hands it to Steve and has him poke around in his mouth. At first, Steve leans back from him, letting Bucky get used to having the gloved hands near his face. Then Steve leans in a bit more. They turn on the suction tool and have Bucky hold it, moving it around his mouth. It’s nice to have the distraction.

They try a few other tools until Bucky wants to try the drill. Steve hesitates, his eyes darkening with fear, not for himself, but for Bucky.

Bucky has told Steve some small details about his issues with the drill. He’s told Jemisha the whole story, but it’s not something he wants to share with Steve. It’s not the actual tool that’s the problem, but the sound it makes. His first introduction to that sound had been when he’d been delirious with pain and blood loss when Hydra had cut off the mangled remains of his arm with a bone saw. They’d used only a minimal amount of anesthesia, not wanting to bother wasting too many resources on him but also not wanting to risk him dying from the shock of the pain. From that point on, whenever he heard a sound like it and knew the tool making that noise was close-by, his body would anticipate the excruciating pain that followed. Even years later when Hydra would work on his metal arm with other types of tools, his body would prepare for pain and react with extreme panic unless he was restrained.

He wasn’t looking forward to this. At all.

“You sure, Buck? We don’t have to. We can do it another day.”

“I wanna try.”

Steve reluctantly unhooks the drill tool from the cart and hands it to Bucky. Without being asked, Steve raises the chair. It’s a good decision—it’s safer for everybody for them to try this with Bucky sitting up.

“You wanna try turning it on and off first?” Steve asks, reluctantly letting go of the tool when Bucky has it in his grasp.

Bucky takes it and inspects it. It looks pretty unremarkable. But he knows the sight of it isn’t what’s tough for him. Then he asks Steve for some pomade and rubs it under his nose. Taking a few deep breaths, he decides to just go for it.

He flips the switch on the little drill and immediately, a high pitched whine fills the cubicle. Panic seizes him and his heart leaps into his throat as he throws the tool away from him. Thankfully, the cord is attached to the cart and Steve manages to catch it and turn it off.

Silence.

Except for Bucky’s panicked breathing, it’s silent. He reaches out and Steve gives him an ungloved hand so he can start counting. Start at the thumb. 1…2…3…4…5. Start at the pinky. 5…4…3…2…1.

When he’s calmed down, he gestures for the drill again. Steve hands it over and Bucky holds it tightly in his hand, takes a deep breath and flips the switch.

His heart leaps with panic, but he manages to hang on to it this time. He’s okay. Everything is okay. There won’t be any pain. He’s okay. He’s in Washington, with Steve.

He watches the tiny tip vibrating as the tool screeches. He turns it off, then on again. He repeats it numerous times, gradually loosening the death grip he has on it. As long as he keeps the tool in his lap and it’s in his own hands, he’s fine.

He decides to stop wasting time and hands Steve the drill. “Turn it on. Lower the chair and bring it close to my face.”

Steve hesitates.

“Come on, Rogers. We ain’t got all day.”

“Buck—”

Bucky’s feeling his courage rapidly deserting him. He has to do this now. He plays dirty. “I can always ask one of the other staff people to help me if you ain’t gonna do it.”

Steve clenches his jaw and opens his mouth to say something, but then abruptly presses the button to lower the chair. Bucky shifts around once he’s back on his back and he hears Steve flipping the switch, turning the drill on.

“Ready?” Steve asks.

“Obviously. It’s what I’ve been telling you.”

Steve shifts and then suddenly, a face obscured behind a mask is leaning over him, advancing towards him with that screeching machine that means pain.

Panic clutches him so hard that he can’t breathe. Pain is coming. God, the pain is coming. He needs to get away from it. Away from it, away from it, _away from it_!

His vision darkens and his entire world narrows down to that chant in his head. Away, away, away, away! Need to get _away_.

He’s can’t see and he can’t hear anything except that screeching sound in his head. It’s coming closer—the pain will come any second now—

He kicks his legs and shoves his arms up, fighting the restraints that are on him. He’s able to move easily—maybe they haven’t tightened them as well as they thought? He struggles some more and he hears a distant crash and a shout. He ignores the sounds and keeps twisting and fighting until he feels himself falling off something and landing on the ground, his chin smacking into the hard floor, pain radiating up his face.

He frantically scrambles across the floor, having no idea what direction he’s going, but just moving away from that sound is good enough.

Away, away, away, away!

Need to get away!

“Buck!”

Away, away, away, _away_!

“Buck, please! Buck, it’s me, it’s Steve. You’re in Washington, we’re at the dentist. Bucky!”

That voice.

That voice doesn’t belong in the room with the masks and the pain. How is that voice here?! _How is that voice here?!_

It’s a trick. It has to be a trick.

He covers his ears with his hands, fingers tangling in his hair to block out that voice. He won’t let them trick him. He keeps shifting along the floor, keeping his ears covered as he goes. He struggles along until he hits a wall.

Damn, damn, damn! Now he’s done it. Now he’s trapped and they’ll get him. They’ll put him back on the table and the pain will start again. He bangs his head into the wall.

He’s such an idiot! He should have paid better attention to where the exit is. Damn!

He slams his head into the wall again. If only he could do it hard enough to kill himself. His fingers tighten in his hair, yanking harshly. He’s so stupid. Why didn’t he run? _Why didn’t he run_?

Suddenly, he smells something familiar. That’s—that’s—

That’s not something that belongs with Hydra.

Pomade?!?

He sniffs again. Yes, definitely pomade.

Another trick?

Why would they be using pomade as a trick?

The only time he used pomade was to do up his hair, but Hydra doesn’t care about how his hair looks.

The only other time he used pomade was for grounding.

Wait.

He slowly opens his eyes. Huh. He hadn’t realized they were closed. Maybe he isn’t blind after all. He blinks, staring at the wall his head’s resting against.

The pomade is for grounding, he remembers that.

Jemisha taught him about grounding and Steve bought him the pomade.

That means he’s in—Brooklyn?

No. That’s not right.

Washington? Yes, Washington sounds right.

Things are not adding up. Especially because nobody has touched him since he had gotten off the table. If he were with Hydra, they would have grabbed him long ago.

Slowly, he releases his grip on his hair and lowers his hands from his ears.

Immediately, he can hear that voice again.

“—safe. You’re in Washington, at the dentist. You’re safe. I’m right here with you. I’m Steve, your Stevie, and I’m right here. You’re safe. I promise nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

Steve. That’s Steve’s voice.

Bucky takes a few deep breaths, willing his heart to slow down. He turns his head a bit so he can see a little bit of the room he’s in. He’s kneeling on the floor, by the wall next to the open doorway.

Steve is crouching behind him, holding out a tube of something in his hand. He’s pale and his eyes are shimmering with unshed tears. He looks scared.

There’s no screeching sound. The only noise is distant low murmuring coming from behind the wall. There’s no sound in their cubicle except for Steve’s voice as he repeats his words over and over again.

Bucky blinks and pushes himself off the wall.

He takes in his surroundings more thoroughly, memory quickly shifting things back into the right places in his head. They’re at the dentist. Mandeep had let them come in so they could practice using the tools.

The tools which had been on a cart, which now lies on its side, the tools and contents strewn across the floor. There’s a pair of gloves and a mask lying abandoned on the floor.

Bucky’s aware that his face is wet. He feels his breathing hitching and he realizes he’s crying. When he reaches up to wipe the tears away, he’s surprised to see his hand come away bloody. That’s when he notices a bloody smear on the wall where he’d slammed his head into the wall.

He feels utterly exhausted and that overwhelming fear still hasn’t completely left him. Still crying, he shuffles across the floor. He wants Steve.

Steve shifts towards him and Bucky collapses into his arms, burying his face into Steve’s shirt. Steve wraps his arms around him, holding him close.

“It’s okay, Buck. It’s all gonna be okay. Nobody’s gonna hurt you, I promise. You’re so brave. Everything’s gonna be okay. I love you. You’re amazing. I love you,” he whispers into Bucky’s hair, rocking them back and forth as Bucky sobs, letting the last of his pent up panic and fear seep away.

When Bucky feels more like a solid human being again as opposed to a pile of broken shards, he pulls back, shoving his hair out of his face.

Steve looks across the mess on the floor and grabs a pack of tissues and starts gently wiping Bucky’s face. He’s frowning at the cut on Bucky’s forehead.

“Buck, we need to get that taken care of.” He looks around and spies a first aid kit on the wall. He takes it down and rummages through it for the supplies he needs. Bucky stays still as Steve cleans up the cut and tapes some gauze on to it. Then he cracks two of the small ice packs and hands them to Bucky.

“Hold that against your forehead and your chin. They’re already swelling up.”

That’s when Bucky realizes his chin is throbbing along with his forehead. He can’t remember what he did to his chin.

While Bucky sits on the floor, holding the ice packs to his face, Steve cleans up. He rights the cart and puts things back in order as well as he can. He uses some antiseptic wipes from the first aid kit to wipe the blood off the wall.

That’s when Bucky starts getting embarrassed. He’s also frustrated, which embarrasses him more. He made such a big mess all because of the sound of a stupid little tool? What kind of an idiot makes such a mess because of a tiny tool?

He sits up straight. “I wanna try again.”

Steve pauses where he’s trying to hook the various tools back into their slots on the cart. “No, Buck,” he says softly.

Bucky’s embarrassment quickly morphs into anger. “What do you mean ‘no’? I said I wanna try again. Let’s go again.”

Steve hangs the last tool up. “And I said no. We’re not trying again today. We’re done for today.”

Bucky feels like crying all over again. They can’t leave this day like this. He doesn’t want to end this day as a complete failure. “You can be done for today, sure. I don’t care. I wanna try again. I’ll have one of the staff people help me.”

Steve sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. “Buck, I can’t. I _can’t_. And I really don’t think you should either. But you have the right to do what you want. But I _can’t_.” He sounds absolutely shattered.

Bucky struggles to his feet and reaches for Steve, grabbing one of his arms. This close, he can see that Steve’s started crying.

“I’m sorry, Stevie. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Buck. It ain’t your fault. We went a bit too quick today, that’s all. But that took a lot out of me and I can’t do that again today, even if you’re up for trying again.”

Bucky bites his lip. He’s torn. He doesn’t want to give up this easily, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to upset Steve further.

“So you’re okay if we give up for today?”

Steve looks startled and frowns at him. “Give up? What do you mean _give up_? Are you crazy? You think this is us giving up?”

Bucky shrugs. “Well, it wasn’t exactly a success.”

Steve looks livid. “I think it was a success! A huge success. We didn’t get everything done perfectly, but there were way too many mission objectives anyway. That was our fault. We took on way too much. From now on, we gotta take smaller steps, that’s all. But we did an amazing job. Look at all the things we did before the stupid drill, all of that was perfect.”

Bucky’s smiling wryly. “Alright, alright. Calm down, Soldier. You don’t gotta get so worked up.”

“I can’t help but get hacked off if somebody’s not giving my best fella credit when he’s due. I don’t care who it is that’s doing the discrediting—they’re gonna get told off.”

Bucky smiles and pulls Steve into a hug, pulling his head onto his shoulder. “Alright, I’ll agree with you. We’ve done as much as we can do for today.”

Steve gives him a tight squeeze. “Let’s go home.”

They slowly wander out of the cubicle and run into Mandeep who had been sorting papers at the front. She looks extremely concerned.

“Are you both okay?”

They nod. “Yeah. Sorry about all that. Did we disturb other patients?” Steve asks.

She waves a hand. “There was one gentleman, but I explained the situation and he was okay.”

Bucky makes a face. “I’m sorry I made such a mess. We won’t be back.”

“And I’ll pay for any damages,” Steve adds.

She blinks at them, looking confused. “Did you decide not to proceed with the dental work?”

Bucky frowns. “I—I—well, I’d like to go ahead with it, but obviously we ain’t welcome here anymore—”

“Who said that?” she demands.

“Well, nobody, but—”

“You’re both still welcome, of course. But I would like to make a suggestion. For patients who have extreme difficulty dealing with dental procedures, we offer IV sedation. Now, I think you both are tired and should go home. Call me tomorrow and I’ll explain more about the sedation.”

Bucky’s already shaking his head, not liking the idea of being sedated. It sounds too much like giving up to him and he isn’t ready for that yet.

Steve is more realistic. “Thank you, Mandeep. We’ll call you tomorrow to discuss it.” He looks at Bucky, who’s looking a bit upset. “Doctor, could we possibly have a pair of gloves and a mask that we could take home to practice with? In case we don’t want to do the sedation.”

That pleases Bucky a bit more.

She smiles. “Hang on a minute,” she says and disappears down the hallway. She’s back a few minutes later, holding a bag that she gives Steve. “I put several gloves and masks in the bag so you can practice with those. I’m also giving you an old polishing tool that we were going to recycle. It’s not as dangerous as the drill but it makes the same sound. Just please be careful when holding it close to your faces. I think if you practice at home in a familiar place, it’ll make it easier. Whenever you’re ready, you’re welcome to come back and keep working at it. But please call me tomorrow to discuss the sedation.” She says all of that in her straight-forward manner that reminds Bucky of Colonel Phillips.

Steve pulls out his wallet but Mandeep waves him off. “Those things are free. I’ll take a look at the room and I’ll bill you if anything is damaged.”

She gives them both kind smiles. “This is only the beginning of our journey together, not the end. Please don’t ever assume that you’re not welcome here. If you are a threat to other patients or myself, we would deal with that, but not by throwing you out. We’re on this journey together, James, I promise you.”

Bucky feels tears well up in his eyes again. Here is this stranger, who he’s only seen twice in his life and who he’s already inconvenienced a dozen times over.

“Thank you, Mandeep. Can I give you a hug?”

She nods and Bucky wraps her in a careful hug. He keeps his left arm at his side. It’s never part of hugs, even Steve hugs.

They bid her good-bye, thank her again and head out the door.

Once they’re outside and Steve drops his bike keys twice, it’s clear that he’s still mentally in the cubicle, watching Bucky falling apart. Bucky takes the keys from him. “I’ll drive home.”

Steve scowls and shakes his head. “No, Buck. You don’t have a license.”

Bucky shrugs. “Who the hell cares?”

Steve sighs. “I care. And you will too. The last thing we need is to get stopped by the cops and then deal with getting a ticket because you don’t have a license. I don’t—I can’t handle that right now. Besides, it ain’t safe for you to be driving around the city. You don’t know the rules of the road.”

Bucky has no idea what rules Steve’s talking about, but he dutifully sticks the keys into his pocket and uses Steve’s phone to look up the number of a cab service. While they wait, he holds the ice packs to his face and lets Steve lean on his back.

When they get home, Bucky takes over. They both always do better when they’re focused on taking care of each other. He puts the lukewarm ice packs into the freezer, takes the bag from Steve’s numb hands and helps him out of his jacket and shoes. They go into Steve’s bedroom and Bucky changes them both into comfortable shirts and sweatpants before putting Steve into bed.

The shirt Steve had been wearing is filthy—covered in pomade, blood and snot from Bucky, so that gets thrown by the door. Bucky will work on getting the stains out later. He stops by the kitchen, grabs two glasses of water and takes the ice packs back out and goes back to Steve’s room. He puts the glasses and packs on the bedside table and curls up with Steve. As Steve clings to Bucky, Bucky wraps one arm around him and presses the ice packs to his face with the other. If it were up to him, he’d leave the stupid ice packs off, but he knows Steve will get more upset later if he finds out Bucky didn’t take care of his injuries because of him.

Steve is shaking against Bucky’s chest and he’s crying again, wiping at his eyes discreetly.

Bucky hooks a leg around Steve and pulls the blanket over them, wrapping Steve in a warm, safe cocoon.

“I’m okay, Stevie, I promise. I’m okay. I love you, sweetheart. I’m sorry it went so badly.”

“It’s not your fault, Buck. Jesus, it’s not your fault.”

“Partially it is. I pushed myself and you way too hard. I should have taken it slower, but I was stubborn and I wanted to do too much. And I ended up triggering myself and upsetting you. I’m not doing that again, I promise. From now on, if you think I’m doing too much, you gotta tell me.”

“I don’t wanna tell you what to do, Buck.”

“When it comes to what I should eat, sure, I can make those decisions, but when it comes to things like this where it’s my brain health on the line, I don’t make the best decisions. You gotta help me make them.”

Bucky’s quiet for a moment and kisses Steve’s forehead. “I’m so sorry for scaring you, sweetheart.”

A sudden thought occurred to him. He pulls back a bit, feeling alarmed. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Steve shakes his head. “No. Thankfully the chair I was on had those rolling wheels and I have quick reflexes. You swung but I was out of range.”

Bucky blinks. He doesn’t remember swinging at anybody. He wants to ask Steve for more details about what exactly had happened, but he decides to wait until the situation isn’t so raw for Steve.

“Let’s get some rest. When we’re awake we can order Chinese.”

“I want a cake. Chocolate cake.”

“We’ll order a cake from the bakery too, don’t worry.”

“How’s your face?”

“Still prettier than yours.”

*             *             *

That night, Bucky has a nightmare that’s worse than anything he’s had before. Gloved hands are brandishing enormous screeching metal tools and he’s in such pain that he can barely breathe. He’s on a table and he can’t move, no matter how hard he tries. He sees faces hidden behind masks. The faces have no eyes. He’s begging, pleading with them to stop, but the gloved hands keep working, the machines tearing and cutting into him.

He’s abruptly torn out of sleep when he feels a splash of cold water hit his face.

He blinks, gasping for breath, his heart racing.

“Buck? You back with me?”

Bucky sees Steve standing by the foot of the bed, the pomade tin in his hands. Bucky glances around. He realizes at one point he had fallen out of bed, and by the empty glass lying on the floor beside him, he guesses he bumped into Steve’s bedside table as he fell, dumping the water in the glass all over himself.

“Well—that’s—that’s way get—get, huh?” he mumbles. Apparently his brain and mouth aren’t synced up properly at the moment.

Steve doesn’t laugh. He holds out the pomade tin. “You still want the pomade?”

Bucky nods and takes the tin from him, sticking it under his nose. He keeps his eyes open, staring at Steve across the darkened bedroom, breathing in the pomade. He holds the tin with his metal hand and holds out his other hand to Steve.

Steve is by his side immediately, kneeling beside him. Bucky tangles his hand in Steve’s shirt and rests his head on Steve’s chest, Steve wrapping his arms around him and slowly rocking them.

Bucky takes a shuddering breath. “They didn’t have any eyes, Stevie. I begged them to stop but the machines were so loud.”

“You’re safe, Buck. We’re at home, you’re safe and they’re never gonna hurt you again, I promise.”

“They didn’t have eyes.” Bucky doesn’t know why he’s fixated on that particular point, but it’s very important that Steve knows.

“I know they didn’t. But you survived, Buck. They’re not here anymore. You survived.”

They rock back and forth, Bucky breathing in the pomade and Steve’s smell. He’s surrounded by scents that have always meant home, long before Hydra had entered his life.

“You wanna get on the bed?”

Bucky shakes his head, afraid that if he moves too much, something might happen. He’s not sure what, but he wants to stay where he is.

Steve carefully shifts them, keeping Bucky between his legs until Steve’s leaning against the bed. He pulls both of their wet shirts off them and throws them towards the laundry hamper. Then he reaches up and pulls the blankets and pillows off the bed, arranging them so a pillow’s behind his back, and a blanket is draped over Bucky.

Steve runs a gentle finger over Bucky’s forehead. When he smiles, Bucky knows the cut hasn’t reopened. He snuggles deeper into Steve’s chest, making a happy noise when Steve tightens his arms around him.

 Bucky’s warm, he’s got his pomade, he’s got his Steve and there are no loud machines or mean people.

He doubts he’ll get much more sleep, but he closes his eyes anyway, feeling a wave of calm settle over him. He tilts his head and brushes a kiss onto Steve’s neck.

He feels Steve’s hand stroking up his back and gently running through his hair. “Good night, Buck.”

“Night, Stevie.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amazing [LABB](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB) has created an amazing sketch of Steve and Bucky! It does contain minor spoilers for this chapter, so I'm not linking to it here. I've embedded a link to it in the chapter, as well as in the end notes.

The next morning, Bucky calls Jemisha and requests an emergency session. Steve is exhausted and once Bucky has finished preparing them breakfast and making sure Steve eats his, he sends Steve straight back to bed to get some proper rest. Jemisha agrees to see him that afternoon, and once Steve is awake again, Bucky surprises him by asking him to join him at his appointment.

Jemisha had been alarmed when Bucky told her how strongly he’d been triggered at the dentist and when he’d explained that he and Steve wanted to work on the situation at home, she had suggested they practice at her office first.

Since Steve’s bike is still at the dentist and they’re both feeling fragile, they take a cab to Jemisha’s office.

Steve is happy to see Jemisha again, but he wishes it were under different circumstances. Steve is always amazed at this small, middle aged woman who looks like somebody’s grandmother and spends her days hearing about the most horrible things humanity does to each other.

When they’re seated in her office, the bag from Mandeep on a small table, Jemisha starts out by asking Steve to go through what had happened during Bucky’s episode.

There isn’t very much to tell. Even though it had seemed to take forever from Bucky’s perspective, the entire thing lasted a few minutes.

Steve had leaned over Bucky, drill in hand, when absolute terror had spread over Bucky’s face and he’d made a high pitched sound like a terrified animal. Steve’s had immediately yanked the drill back and turned it off. Bucky had started flailing on the chair and swung at Steve with his metal fist. Steve had pushed himself away with the chair, narrowly avoiding being hit, but he’d bumped into the cart, which had toppled over, sending tools flying. Bucky had scrambled off the chair and fallen to the floor, smashing his chin on the ground before scrambling across the floor, still making those terrified noises. Mandeep and another staff member had appeared in the doorway and Steve had motioned them back frantically.

“Don’t touch him, please! It’s okay, I’ll handle it!”

He doesn’t know what scared him more—the thought of Bucky hurting somebody, or Bucky becoming more terrified if he felt hands touching him.

Mandeep looked doubtful and worried, wanting to help. “What happened?”

“It’s the—the drill. The sound of it. He’s—please, stay back! I’ll take care of it. I’ll shout if I need you to call the police, but please, don’t come any closer to him.”

When they had pulled themselves out of sight, Steve had gotten off the chair and shuffled a bit closer to Bucky, speaking to him and trying to coax him back to the present.

“Buck, please! Buck, it’s me, it’s Steve. You’re in Washington, we’re at the dentist. Bucky?”

Bucky had abruptly let out a pained whine and covered his ears with his hands, his hands fisting in his hair as he continued shuffling across the floor. Bucky ended up shuffling straight into the wall, where he stayed, hands covering his ears and making those terrified sounds.

Not knowing what else to do, Steve kept talking. He desperately wanted to touch Bucky but knew that would probably only end with him having to fend off an attack.

When Bucky first slammed his head into the wall, Steve’s heart nearly stopped. “Buck! Stop, please. You’re hurting yourself. Bucky!”

Bucky did it again and Steve was on the verge of grabbing him, ready to hold him down and yell for assistance. He could keep Bucky restrained until Mandeep called the police or the paramedics or whoever else could help them. Until then, he needed to prevent Bucky from hurting himself further.

That’s when he remembered the pomade in his pocket. He frantically pulled it out, unscrewed the lid and squeezed it, letting it flow over his hand. He waved his hand in Bucky’s direction, hoping the strong smell would help.

It was his last chance. If Bucky would have slammed his head into the wall one more time, Steve would have restrained him.

Thankfully, that was when Bucky had come back to himself. Steve will never forget the way Bucky looked when he turned his face from the wall: blood and tears streaming down his face, his hair in tangles, eyes wild with fear.

The entire thing may have only lasted a few minutes but Steve felt like decades of his life had drained from him. It was one of the most terrifying things he’d ever witnessed.

Bucky looks close to tears when Steve’s done telling his side of the story. He pulls Steve into his arms.

“I’m sorry, Stevie.”

“I told you, you ain’t got nothing to apologize for.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that and I wasn’t there to help you. Well, I was there, but not really. You know what I mean.”

“You were there after, that’s what counts.”

Bucky kisses his cheek and releases him, focusing back on Jemisha. She commends Steve’s actions during the episode, praising his ability to stay in control and remembering the grounding techniques.

“As you both have pointed out, you were moving in the right direction, but too quickly. James, we’ll go through something called exposure therapy that will hopefully help. We’ll expose you to the things and situations that are triggering while you utilize your grounding techniques and we’ll support you. Over time, hopefully, you’ll become desensitized to the triggering objects and situations.”

She has Bucky sit on the recliner with it tilted back half way, simulating the dentist chair. It’s a chair Bucky’s sat in numerous times so he’s fine. Then Jemisha has him take calming breaths and focus on various objects in the room, keeping himself in the present. She instructs Steve to slip on the gloves and the mask and gently start running his hands along Bucky’s legs over his pants. He starts by Bucky’s calves so Bucky can clearly see him and what he’s doing.

“You okay, Buck?”

Bucky grins. “Easy as cake.”

Steve smirks behind the mask. “It’s either ‘easy as pie’ or ‘piece of cake’.”

“It’s whatever I want it to be, Rogers.”

Steve glances at Jemisha, not sure if they’re supposed to be chit-chatting during this.

She smiles. “Talking’s fine, Steve. As long as James is benefiting from it, do whatever you want.”

Steve shifts upwards so he’s running his hands along Bucky’s thighs. They continue working their way upwards, Bucky focusing on breathing and staying present. Before long, Steve’s gently brushing his gloved fingers along Bucky’s cheeks.

“Alright, now, Steve, lean over him.”

Steve does as instructed and right on cue, Bucky’s heart starts hammering in his chest and he feels the panic creeping in. Steve looks like he’s going to pull back, but Jemisha is kneeling behind him and gently holds him in place with a touch on his back. “Talk to him, Steve. James—focus on your breathing.”

“It’s okay, Buck. Look at my face behind the mask. Easy as cake, remember? Look—it’s just me.”

They stay where they are, Bucky slowly getting his breathing under control. Steve remains hovering over him, his fingers stroking his cheek.

After several minutes, Bucky’s surprised to find he’s feeling calm. Steve’s leaning right over him, that mask only a few inches from his face and he can smell the latex of the gloves, but he feels fine.

Jemisha has Steve move back down Bucky’s body and then come back to his face. The panic creeps back in when Steve’s close to his face again, but it takes Bucky less time to calm down.

“There you go, Buck. You’re doing so good. I’m so proud of you.”

After a few minutes, Jemisha puts a hand on Steve’s back. “Alright, that’s enough for now. Steve, slowly withdraw, please. And you can take the gloves and mask off. James, you can stay where you are or you can sit up, whatever you like.”

She goes to get them both glasses of water, which she puts on the table. Steve pulls off the gloves and mask and wipes at the sweat that had gathered around his mouth.

Steve has a seat on a nearby chair and gulps down half of his water. He holds out Bucky’s glass towards him. “You need water, Buck?”

Bucky shakes his head, enjoying how relaxed he’s feeling on the chair. “Nah. I’m good.”

Steve grins at him. “You really are, ain’t ya?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Jemisha is smiling, looking pleased. “That went very well. Now, I want you two to practice that at home. The exact same way. I don’t want you to go any further. However, if you, James, are getting triggered more easily, then stop completely and we’ll change tactics. The point of exposure therapy isn’t to constantly practice your grounding techniques, the point is to expose somebody to a trigger until they no longer need to use any ground techniques.”

“So we shouldn’t push it?” Steve asks, careful not to look at Bucky, who’s making a face.

“Definitely not. Things should not escalate to the point where James is fully triggered and has an episode. James—you may not be in the best position to judge when things are going too far, and Steve, it’s a big responsibility. If you don’t feel comfortable, then please, don’t practice at home. Leave it for here. And please, Mr. Barnes, _please_ don’t practice by yourself.”

She’s giving Bucky a look that Bucky recognizes from being on his mother’s and Steve’s mother’s faces a lot.

“Okay, okay, I promise. I won’t push it. Besides, if I can’t handle it, we can go the sedation route.” He’s aware he sounds bitter when he says it, but he can’t help it.

Jemisha holds up a hand before Steve can respond. “James, this is about a lot more than the dentist. If your teeth reach a point where you have to get procedures done before you’re ready, then yes, go the sedation route. But in general, this exposure therapy will help you in the long run. Remember what we always say about trauma recovery?”

“The point isn’t to get past the trauma, the point is to be able to live a normal life with it.”

“Exactly. Even though these triggers are very strongly connected to the dentist, there are all sorts of other situations in life where you might encounter them.”

*             *             *

When they get home, Steve reminds Bucky to call Mandeep to discuss the sedation. He shrugs it off. “I’ll call her if we decide to do the sedation.”

Steve gives him a long look but Bucky shots him a glare and by the stubborn set of his jaw, Steve knows he won’t change his mind.

So Steve calls Mandeep and discusses the sedation. He puts the phone on speaker when Mandeep is explaining the procedure, but Bucky deliberately turns up the volume of the television. Steve rolls his eyes and turns off the speaker setting and goes into his room to finish the conversation, leaving Bucky with his mood.

*             *             *

“Do you remember what aisle the toilet paper’s in?” Steve asks, leaning on the shopping cart as he scans the signs on the aisles. They never seem to have the items written on the signs that he needs.

“Buck? The toilet paper? Do you remember?”

When he still doesn’t get a response, Steve glances behind him and finds himself alone. He turns in a slow circle, but no, he doesn’t see Bucky anywhere.

Sighing, he decides he has to find the toilet paper himself and he pushes his cart up to a nice elderly gentleman wearing the store’s uniform to ask him.

He’s successfully found and selected the toilet paper and he’s heading to the frozen section for ice cream when he spies Bucky at the cash registers. Bucky’s grabbing three bags of items from the cashier and smiling as she hands him Steve’s credit card and the receipt. He puts it in his wallet and then swings back around the cash register and strolls towards Steve.

Steve is confused. “Are we shopping in shifts now? Or is there an item limit I don’t know about?”

“Nope. Just getting a few things that ain’t none of your business.” Bucky’s smiling so hard that his face looks like it’ll split in half.

“What the hell could you possibly be buying that you need to keep a secret?”

Bucky shrugs. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore. You’ll find out, Rogers. Be patient. Focus on the ice cream.”

Steve narrows his eyes at him but Bucky kicks at the cart, shoving it towards the freezer section. He starts heading that way, throwing a smirk over his shoulder. “Come on, darling. We ain’t getting any younger.”

All the way home, Bucky carefully keeps his three bags out of Steve’s view and only smiles in answer to Steve’s increasingly frustrated questions. “You’d think in your old age, you’d learn to be a bit more patient, but I see that ain’t the case.”

Once they’re home, Bucky annoys Steve further by helping him put the other groceries away while keeping his bags under the table.

Finally, he lifts the bags on the table. “Alright, are you ready?”

“Barnes, I’ve been ready since I caught you being sneaky in the store,” he snaps. Then he pauses and narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Is this a sex thing? Because I haven’t showered today.”

Bucky bursts out laughing. “No, it’s not a sex thing. Even if it were, you think I ain’t used to your stink?”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s a competition.”

Steve frowns. “Against who?”

“You against the clock. First, I want you to get the kitchen cleaned up. We’re gonna put away all the clutter and get everything nice and organized.”

When Steve doesn’t move, Bucky raises an eyebrow. “What are you waiting for, Rogers? Let’s hurry up about it.”

They set to work cleaning off the counters and putting away clean dishes sitting in the drying rack.

“Alright, now what?”

Bucky grins and rummages through his three bags before selecting one and putting it on the table. He grabs Steve’s cell phone, turns on the timer function and punches in 20 minutes. He clears his throat and then stands up dramatically.

“Good afternoon, Chef Rogers. There are three rounds to this competition: appetizer, entrée and dessert. Each round comes with its own…bag…of mystery ingredients and you must use every ingredient in the bag in some way.”

Steve’s staring at him like he’s grown a second head before he burst out laughing.

Bucky struggles to keep a straight face and keeps going. “Also available to you: the fridge. Not available to you: me. Each round is timed. When the clock runs out, our judge—who is me—will critique your work on presentation, taste and creativity. If your dish doesn’t cut it, you will be chopped.”

Steve’s laughing so hard he’s bent over, clutching the table. “Buck, are you serious?” he gasps out.

Ignoring him, Bucky continues. “If you need to boil water or pre-heat the oven, the clock will stop for that, but you won’t be allowed to do any cooking while you wait. Chef, are you ready?”

Steve manages to shake his head, laughing so hard he’s got tears in his eyes. “N-No! No, I’m not ready!”

Bucky finally loses his composure and starts laughing too. “Chef Rogers, you’re not taking this very seriously! Rogers! You’re not listening!”

“Listening?! Buck, I’m dying!”

Finally, Steve manages to calm down enough to straighten up. [He stares at Bucky, who’s brandishing Steve’s cell phone](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10953420/chapters/24378618).

“Wait, are you actually serious?”

“You think I re-watched the same clip of Ted Allen’s introduction a dozen times for a joke?”

Steve’s eyeing the bag on the table. “So I have to use what’s in there?”

Bucky nods, grinning. “These are the appetizer mystery ingredients. Christ’s sake, Rogers, how many episodes of Chopped have we watched? You know exactly how it goes. Now, are you ready to see the ingredients?”

“Wait, wait. I’m not ready. Wait!” He looks panicked and he stares around the kitchen frantically.

“What are you worried about? You know where everything is,” Bucky says, chuckling.

Steve takes a deep breath. “Okay. Wait, are you seriously gonna time me?”

“I’m sorry, did the rules of Chopped change? Do they not use a timer anymore?” But Steve is looking a bit too worried for something that’s supposed to be fun, so Bucky erases the 20 minutes on the timer and puts 30 instead.

“There. You get 10 extra minutes. And the only judge you have to impress is me so you’ll be fine. But I’ll have you know I’ve become a picky eater where quality’s concerned. I eat a lot of great home cooked meals.”

Steve gives him a strained smile, his eyes worried. Bucky’s smile fades. “Stevie, look, forget about it. I thought it’d be fun, but I think I made a mess of it. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like this.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, no, I’m just nervous. But I wanna do it.”

Bucky gets up and comes around the table and turns Steve around and kisses him. “How about we leave the timer out of it the first time? And I’ll let you in on a secret.”

Steve smiles. “What’s that?”

Bucky leans in and whispers into Steve’s ear. “The judge is easily influenced by Steve Rogers kisses.”

Bucky can feel him smiling into the side of his neck. “I’m sure he’s influenced by a lot of different kisses.”

Bucky nips his ear gently. “Nope. Just Steve Rogers kisses. They’re extra special and he can’t be a harsh critic when he’s had some of them.”

Steve pulls back and kisses him. Bucky hums happily. “Yes, those are the Steve Rogers kisses he loves.”

Steve tilts his head forward and they gently press their foreheads together until Steve’s nerves have settled. “Alright, Mr. Barnes. If we leave the timer out of it for now, I’m ready to compete.”

Bucky smiles and kisses him again. “That one was for good luck.”

Steve grins. “You’re horribly biased, Mr. Barnes.”

“Do I give a damn?” Bucky shrugs. “Nope.”

Steve releases him and smacks him on the butt. “Alright, out of my kitchen. I need room to work.”

Bucky dutifully swings around the kitchen table and has a seat. He exits the timer app and pushes Steve’s phone out of the way.

“Chef Rogers, are you ready?”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes.”

“Your mystery ingredients for the appetizer round are…” Bucky opens the bag just enough to reach in and pull out the first item. “Chicken wings…” he puts the parcel of raw chicken wings on the table, “…instant noodles…” the package is dropped beside the wings, “…celery…” a bundle is pulled out, “…and string cheese.”

He lines up the four items on the table.

Steve’s staring at them and then up at him. “I remember this episode.”

“I know you do.”

“They used different noodles.”

“I couldn’t find those noodles, so I grabbed these. I know how much you _love_ using instant stuff.”

Steve predictably wrinkles his nose. Since he had started cooking, he had developed a fast aversion for modern ultra-processed food.

“But I can’t really remember what the contestants made.”

“I know. I was counting on that too. You were sketching during the episode and weren’t paying attention.”

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes at him. “You’re playing dirty, Mr. Barnes.”

“I’m not the one who was trying to bribe the judge with Steve Rogers kisses about a minute ago.”

Steve laughs. “Alright, I’m ready.”

“Then get going. It’s not timed but I’m hungry.”

Eyes sparkling, Steve started tearing open the ingredients. Bucky leans back in his chair, watching Steve get to work.

The appetizer round ends up taking Steve about 35 minutes. Bucky had been keeping an eye on the time displayed on the oven, but he doesn’t mention it. Before Steve presents his dish, he swings around the table and kisses Bucky.

“I wanna make sure my judge is in a good mood before he tries it,” Steve whispers against his lips. Bucky grins and puts a hand on Steve’s face to keep him close for some more kissing.

They eat their way through Steve’s creation, Bucky spending more time eating than critiquing, but he’s hungry, so who can blame him?

He uses his fork to clean off his plate then sticks it into his mouth and sucks it clean happily.

“Damn, that was good, Chef Rogers. Alright, let’s move on to the entrée round.”

Steve grins. “Bring it on.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“I could do this all day.”

Bucky’s laughs so hard that Steve ends up having to retrieve the entrée bag himself.

*             *             *

They practice with the mask and gloves every day for two weeks. Steve starts putting on the mask and gloves at random times during the day and walking around their apartment with them on so Bucky gets more accustomed to seeing them. They get to the point where Steve can touch Bucky’s face with the gloves with very little warning and Bucky barely reacts.

Jemisha has them slowly include the polishing tool into their routine, which involves Steve turning it on and off while sitting across the room from Bucky and then slowly moving closer to him. When Bucky starts getting anxious, Steve will move back a bit and then try again. They work on it twice a day, but even after two weeks, Bucky still can’t handle the tool coming close to his face. He’s fine with Steve holding the tool when he’s about a metre away, but any closer and Bucky starts panicking.

Bucky gets more and more annoyed with himself, which makes it more difficult for him to relax and Steve ends up stopping their attempts after only a few minutes when he sees that Bucky is getting close to being triggered.

The good news is they avoid Bucky being fully triggered, but the bad news is they barely make any progress, and Bucky has a severe toothache.

He’d hid the pain from Steve for weeks, but when it’s at the point where he’s putting only tiny mouthfuls of food into his mouth at a time and only chewing on one side, Steve puts his foot down.

“Buck, we gotta do the sedation. I hate seeing you in pain and it’s not necessary for you to be suffering.”

“I’ll do better tomorrow. I’ll get it down pat next week. We’ll practice for one more week and—”

Steve tightens his jaw. “No. We’ve _been_ practicing and it’s getting worse. You’re too stressed out and we’ll end up going backwards if we force it. It’s not good to do this with a crazy deadline looming over us.”

Bucky slams his metal arm onto the table. “I’m not doing the stupid sedation!”

“You’re being an idiot, Barnes!”

“It’s my mouth and it’s my decision, asshole!” Bucky shoves himself up from the table and stomps into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Steve leaves him alone, respecting the closed door. He makes them dinner and puts Bucky’s portion into the fridge. He goes to Bucky’s door and informs him where his dinner is. Then he goes back to the kitchen table and settles at the table with his sketching supplies and laptop to practice for art class. He chooses one of the portraits that they had done before but to amuse himself, he sketches Bucky’s face instead of the portrait subject. It turns out that Bucky is equally handsome wearing clothes from any century.

Several hours go by until Bucky’s door opens. Steve watches him out of the corner of his eye but keeps his focus on his sketchpad. Bucky pulls his plate out of the fridge, warms it up in the microwave and pours himself a glass of water. Then he disappears into his room again with his food.

That evening, Steve stops by Bucky’s room to say good night. The door is still closed, a clear sign that Bucky wants to be left alone. So Steve says good night and tells him he loves him and then goes to bed.

The next morning, Alina comes by for breakfast. Bucky stays in his room and Steve tells her Bucky isn’t feeling well, which isn’t a complete lie. They make pancakes together and enjoy a quiet breakfast, then they head out and walk Suzy together.

When he gets back, Bucky’s sitting at the table, slowly eating his way through the pancakes Steve had left for him. Steve sits on the couch and turns on the television. Bucky had found a baseball game on television the other day—Steve had actually thought it was a movie until he looked it up and discovered that baseball is still very much an active sport these days (Bucky had laughed at him and Steve had felt like an idiot)—and they’d quickly fallen back in love with it. They’re still on the fence about which team to support, but for now it’s difficult enough for them to follow the game on the large television with the different camera angles, the moving graphics and the camera zooming in and out. After watching the game as a spectator high up in the stands or listening to it on the radio, the high definition television version took some getting used to.

“Morning Stevie,” Bucky mumbles.

Steve looks over at him, smiling happily. “Morning, Buck. How you doing?”

Bucky sighs. “I called Mandeep. We’re going in tomorrow. I’ll do the sedation.”

Steve gets up and wraps his arms around Bucky from behind. He kisses his head. “You’re a peach, James Buchanan Barnes.”

“I’m doing it for you, not for me. I hate the idea.”

Steve rests his head against Bucky’s. “Why?”

Bucky is quiet for a moment, shoving the last piece of pancake around on his plate. Then: “Because I don’t want _them_ to win,” he mumbles.

Steve frowns and crouches down beside him. “We’re not letting them win, Buck! They already lost! Look at you—” he gestures around himself. “You’re living a normal life. They lost when you walked away from them after you got me out of the river. We’ll keep working on the exposure therapy and we’ll continue working at it as long as you want, but you can’t compromise your health while doing it.”

“We’re not giving up?”

“No. As long as you’re okay, physically and mentally, we’ll keep practicing. But you said you’re trusting me to decide when to take a break, right? We’ll take a little break, get your teeth worked on a bit, and then we’ll get back to it.”

Bucky nods and lets himself slump against Steve’s shoulder, sighing softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed the link in the chapter, the amazing [LABB](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB) has created a [wonderful sketch](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10953420/chapters/24378618) showing Bucky and Steve during the 'Chopped' cooking challenge.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to head back to the dentist! Enjoy!

The next morning, they ride the bus to Mandeep’s office. Once they’re in the cubicle Mandeep directs them to, Bucky settles on the chair and Steve pulls on a pair of the gloves and a mask. They spend a few minutes getting relaxed until Mandeep comes in, trailed by a young woman who Mandeep introduces as her assistant, Sarah. The two of them get all the tools arranged while Steve sits by Bucky’s side, holding his hand.

“How you doing, Buck?” Steve whispers.

Bucky gives him a small smile. “I’m okay.”

“Alright, James. If you’re ready, we’ll administer the sedative.”

Bucky nods and gently pulls his hand out of Steve’s grasp and gives it to Mandeep. Steve rubs Bucky’s belly as the sedative is injected into the back of his hand.

Steve had explained to Mandeep that Bucky might metabolize the sedative faster than normal people, so she has Bucky attach a small monitoring patch to his chest, the attached wires running to a heart monitoring unit. They’ll be able to judge from Bucky’s heart rate when he starts coming out of the sedation so they can administer more.

Steve keeps a careful eye on Bucky’s face as the drugs start to take effect. Sarah stays back and all tools stay off while they wait.

“It’s okay, Buck. Everything’s fine. Just relax, buddy. I’ll keep an eye on everything here and I’ll see you when it’s done. Don’t worry about a thing,” Steve whispers, taking Bucky’s hand back.

“Stevie? I—I—I it’s—hmm,” Bucky mumbles, his words slurring.

They can hear the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitoring machine slowing as Bucky’s heart rate decreases—his body sinking into a state of relaxation.

He’s still staring at Steve but his blinking is slowing down.

“You’re getting sleepy, huh? Relax, Buck. Everything’s okay, I promise.”

Bucky mumbles some more, the words completely unintelligible now. Steve squeezes his hand. Bucky doesn’t fall asleep completely but his eyes remain heavy-lidded and his blinking is sluggish. He stops responding to Steve’s voice and his muttering stops soon after.

They wait a few more minutes, making sure Bucky’s completely settled.

Then Steve slides a bit down so he’s sitting by Bucky’s hips. Steve has the heart monitor right across from him so he can keep an eye on it while the doctors work. Mandeep lowers the chair and then takes up position across from Sarah, who has slid her chair in beside Steve.

Steve watches them prop open Bucky’s mouth and inject the local anesthesia into his gums. They do some cleaning and looking around.

Then she turns on the drill.

All three of them anxiously stare at the heart monitor, but the beeping stays even. Steve is holding Bucky’s hand loosely and doesn’t feel any change in his grasp.

Mandeep gives Steve a look and he nods. Time to see if this is going to work.

Steve holds his breath as Mandeep brings the drill closer to Bucky’s face and slowly puts it into his mouth.

The heart monitor stays steady, as does Bucky’s hand. He’s perfectly still, staring up at ceiling with a vacant stare, his eyes blinking slowly from time to time.

Steve lets out a long breath, silently thanking God and whoever had invented the concept of sedation.

The procedure takes about two hours. When Steve sees a small increase in the heart monitor, he tells Mandeep, who pauses everything and injects a bit more sedative. When Bucky has completely settled again, they resume.

By the time they’re done, Steve’s back is aching from sitting in the same position for so long, but he’d rather deal with the pain than take his eyes off Bucky for a moment.

Once they’re done, the doctors put all the tools away, raise the chair and leave the cubicle, leaving Steve with Bucky. Mandeep had warned him that Bucky will probably be groggy and confused for a while so the fewer people are around, the better.

Steve waits, holding Bucky’s hand and keeping a careful eye on Bucky’s face. When the heart monitor starts increasing, Steve peels off the monitor pad and turns the machine off.

He goes back to waiting, watching Bucky’s eyes as he starts blinking more rapidly.

“Buck? You back with me? We’re at the dentist, buddy. Everything went really well. We can go home whenever you’re ready.”

A few more minutes go by while Bucky blinks a few times. He looks slightly more alert, mumbles something and then his eyes slide shut completely.

Steve lets him rest, wanting him to wake up at his own pace. He listens to the television playing in the next cubicle and watches Bucky’s face.

Bucky’s eyes start moving again and he blinks a few times. He looks a bit more alert than he did last time.

“—evie?” he mumbles.

“Yeah, it’s Stevie. I’m right here, Buck. We’re at the dentist. Everything’s okay.”

Bucky mumbles a bit more.

“Everything’s okay, Buck. Your mouth feels weird because it’s numb. That’ll wear off soon.”

“How? He—it goes,” Bucky mutters, a strand of drool seeping out of the corner of his mouth. Steve lifts up the bib that’s still hanging around Bucky’s neck and wipes the drool away.

“That’s right, Buck. You’re okay.”

Bucky keeps mumbling nonsense for a little while but gradually starts looking more alert. When he’s shifting around on the chair, Steve pulls out his phone and calls a cab.

He helps Bucky out of the chair, pulls off the bib and they wander down the hallway. Steve carefully deposits Bucky in a chair in the waiting room and pays their bill and listens to Mandeep’s after-care instructions, accepting a bottle of antiseptic mouthwash from her. Then he thanks her and drapes Bucky’s arm over his shoulder as they head out and get into the waiting cab. At first, he slings Bucky’s right arm over his shoulder, but when Bucky starts listing to his left from the weight of the metal arm, Steve quickly switches sides. Bucky seems unware of his balance problems and keeps shuffling towards the waiting cab.

As they’re heading home, Bucky gets more talkative, but the combination of his mouth being numb and the lingering effects of the sedation result in only nonsense coming out.

Steve adds in some comments here and there so Bucky won’t think he’s being ignored. They get home and Steve pays the fare while Bucky gets himself out of the cab. He’s staggering a bit on the sidewalk, but he makes it to their front door before Steve’s out of the cab.

“Jesus, Barnes, would you wait a second?”

Bucky’s mumbling at the door and shoving at it, getting increasingly annoyed when it doesn’t open. Steve hurries up to him and reaches around him to unlock the door. They make it inside and stumble up to their apartment. Once Steve’s unlocked the door, Bucky pushes him aside to get through the door first. Then he sits down on the carpet by the door.

“No, Buck. Not here. You gotta get to the couch or a bed first.”

“It—I—made—no,” Bucky mutters, sounding annoyed. When Steve reaches down to haul him up, Bucky swats at him and mumbles some more.

Steve sighs. “Fine. Stay there.” He shoves Bucky forward a bit so he can shut the door. He crouches down and pulls off Bucky’s boots and jacket, gently pushing his hands away when Bucky tries to shove him off.

“Quit it. I’m helping you whether you want it or not.”

Bucky’s looking around with that half vacant look on his face and he keeps lifting his hand to poke at his numb mouth.

Steve reaches down and pulls his hand down. “No, Buck. Leave it alone.”

Bucky makes an annoyed sound, garbles some nonsense at Steve and swats at him again. Thankfully he only used his right hand and Steve easily dodges the hit.

“Jesus, Mr. Grumpy. Come watch television and leave your mouth alone.”

Steve heads to the bathroom to pee and puts the antiseptic mouthwash on the counter, then goes back to the couch and turns on the television. Bucky has stayed on the floor by the door, but he eventually crawls along the floor towards the couch. He gives Steve an extremely dirty look and sits on the floor beside the couch, staring at the television.

Steve keeps an eye on him and when drools starts seeping down his chin again, Steve gets a handful of tissues and gently dabs at Bucky’s face. Bucky swats at him and rips the tissues out of his hand.

“Christ’s sake. Fine, do it yourself.”

Bucky holds the tissues to his mouth, eyes staring vacantly at the television.

After about ten minutes, Bucky starts dabbing at his mouth with the tissues a bit more effectively and he’s moving his lips around, pursing and squishing them together.

“My lips feel funny.”

“They’re still numb. Leave them alone, please. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. The numbing will be gone in a few hours.”

“I ain’t a child, Rogers. You don’t gotta tell me what to do.”

Steve swallows a sigh and ignores him.

A few hours go by. Bucky’s system finally finishes metabolizing the sedation and he gets feeling back in his mouth at the same time.

He pushes himself up from the floor and heads to the bathroom. Steve watches him go but doesn’t move from the couch.

He’s back a minute later, having thrown the wad of tissues out. He’s holding out a pink hair tie, impatiently waving it in Steve’s direction.

Steve gets up and puts Bucky’s hair up in a bun. He doesn’t take his time like he usually does, he just puts his hair up as quickly as possible, sensing that Bucky probably isn’t too keen at being manhandled at the moment. Bucky tolerates the touching for exactly as long as it takes to tighten the elastic, then he’s ducking away from Steve, wandering around the living room in random directions. “My mouth feels weird,” he says.

“They took out a lot of teeth. They only did work on your right side so you can eat on the left. You’re not supposed to let anything touch the right side for at least a week. No brushing, no eating, no poking. You have to use the special mouthwash that’s in the bathroom three times a day. You gotta let it heal properly. In two weeks, we’ll go back for a check-up to see how the healing’s going.”

Bucky doesn’t give any indication that he paid attention.

“If you need something for the pain, we’ve got some generic stuff that might work for you. If not, Mandeep can—”

Bucky abruptly turns and heads towards his room. Steve hears his door slam.

“—prescribe you something stronger,” Steve finishes.

*             *             *

Steve wakes when he feels a weight settle on the bed behind him. An arm winds around Steve’s waist and he’s pulled into a warm body behind him. A kiss is pressed into the back of his neck.

“Morning, Buck.”

“Morning, sweetheart.”

“How you feeling?”

“Much better than yesterday. That sedation stuff was weird. I felt out of sorts for a while there.”

Steve gives Bucky’s arm a pat. “You feel better today?”

“Oh, yeah. Back to a hundred percent.”

“How’s your mouth?”

“There’s a bit of pain, but it’s manageable.”

“Did you eat something yet?”

“No. I wasn’t hungry yesterday. I think I can manage yoghurt today.” Bucky’s nuzzling the back of his neck. “Hey, Rogers?”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry I was in such a snit yesterday. I don’t know why but I felt really grumpy after the sedation.”

Steve smiled. “It’s okay. Mandeep says different people react to it differently. You know what’s the most important part?”

Bucky shrugs. “That I said sorry?”

Steve snorts and turns himself around so he’s facing Bucky. “The apology is appreciated, but it’s not the most important part.”

Bucky’s frowning at him. “Then what is?”

“We made it through the first surgery, Buck! That’s huge!”

Bucky smiles, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. “Yeah, I guess we did.”

Steve presses a soft close-mouthed kiss to his lips. “Our journey to getting you your perfect smile back is officially in progress.”

“I don’t really think I had a perfect—”

Steve reaches up and gently presses a hand to his mouth, very aware that he doesn’t want to put any pressure on the healing wounds. “Hush, Barnes. I say your smile was perfect, so it was.”

Bucky smiles behind his hand and then licks it. Steve yanks his hand back. “Christ! That’s disgusting!”

He wipes his hand on Bucky’s shirt and then smacks his ass, ignoring Bucky’s laughter. He shoves a leg between Bucky’s legs and presses his thigh against Bucky’s cock, rubbing gently.

Bucky’s laughter catches in his throat. “Your leg get lost on its way off the bed, Rogers?”

“That’s up to you. Do you think it’s in the right spot?”

Bucky grins and grinds down against his thigh. “Oh, it’s definitely in the right spot. But I think you have to keep your tongue out of my mouth.”

Steve grins and leans in, giving him a quick peck on the lips. “Oh, that’s alright. I’ve got other plans for my mouth anyway.”

He rolls Bucky and pulls him so his legs are hanging off the edge of the bed. Steve climbs over him and is about to step to the floor so he can kneel between his legs—he doesn’t want to be looming over Bucky by staying on the bed—when Bucky grabs his boxer shorts.

“It’s okay. You can stay on the bed.”

Steve pauses. “You sure, Buck? I don’t mind being down there. I don’t want you to worry about me hovering.”

Bucky rearranges himself so he’s propped against the headboard, leaning against Steve’s pillows. He parts his legs and pats the space between them. “There. You won’t be hovering.”

Steve grins and runs his hands up Bucky’s legs to his cock, rubbing it through his sweatpants, feeling it hardening.

“Let’s get these pants off you.” He shoves Bucky’s legs closed and pulls the pants and underwear off, lifting them over his swelling cock. Tossing them to the ground, he lies down between his legs and kisses his way up Bucky’s thigh.

Holding Bucky’s cock, he licks long stripes from root to tip, getting it wet. Bucky swears and his head drops back against the headboard. Steve strokes his cock, licks his lips and pulls the tip into his mouth, sucking gently.

“Jesus, Stevie…” Bucky groans, his right hand coming down to rest on the back of Steve’s head, curling into his hair, not pulling but just holding on.

Steve sucks harder, moaning around Bucky’s cock. His hand jerks what his mouth can’t handle, but he’s pleased that he can go a lot further down than when he had first started doing this. By now, he knows exactly what pressure to use and where to press his tongue to make Bucky lose his mind.

Bucky’s watching him with heavy-lidded eyes, flushed all the way down his chest, gasping out broken words and sounds.

“Christ, sweetheart, so good. So good. Oh, hot damn. Sweetheart, you’re doing so good. Feels so good.”

Steve sucks harder and doesn’t let up when he feels Bucky warning him that he’s about to come. He stays where he is and swallows when Bucky comes. When he pulls off, he can feel his chin covered in saliva and cum.

Bucky’s sprawled against the pillow, staring at him. “Damn, I wanna lick your face.”

Steve grins. “I know. But I’m thinking it’s better to keep as many things out of your mouth as possible right now.”

Bucky shoves at Steve until he’s lying on his back and crawls up him. Bucky grabs some tissues from the bedside table and carefully wipes Steve’s face, then presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

Steve smiles up at him. Bucky’s focusing on the obvious bulge in Steve’s boxers. “You want a hand with that, Rogers?”

Steve shrugs. “If you have a free one.”

Bucky props himself on his left arm and pulls down the shorts with his other. Steve’s cock bobs free, hard and sticky at the tip. Bucky gets a hand on him and strokes him, knowing exactly what Steve likes it in these situations—he just wants to finish as quickly as possible.

He strokes him hard and fast, Steve groaning and swearing.

“Come on, sweetheart. I know I just cleaned you up, but I wanna see you get filthy again. Wanna see you come all over yourself.”

With a soft cry, Steve does, covering his shirt and Bucky’s hand.

Bucky grins at him, looking very pleased with himself and wipes his hand on his shirt while Steve catches his breath. Bucky helps wrestle the filthy shirt off him and wipes them clean and then throws it towards Steve’s laundry hamper.

They curl up in bed together, Bucky sprawled on Steve.

“Hey, Rogers?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I gonna get a present like that after every surgery?”

Steve laughs. “Sure, Barnes. But only once you’ve recovered from the sedation. I ain’t giving Mr. Grumpy a suck job.”

*             *             *

A week and a half later, Bucky declares that his mouth has healed enough and they head back to the dentist to do his other side.

He’s much more at ease with the entire situation this time around but the sedation still makes him feel just as groggy and weird as last time, so he isn’t the most cheerful companion until the next morning.

Two days after the second surgery when he should be ready to try eating something that isn’t yoghurt, he comes to the abrupt realization that he has very few teeth left in his mouth. He can chew on his right side now, but he only has a handful of teeth left.

Eating becomes a chore. He gets tired of ice cream and yoghurt in a few days, and tearing bread into small chunks that dissolve on his tongue is boring. Steve helps him mash up vegetables and fruits into purees, but he hates eating like a baby. He can eat other things, but only if he cuts everything into tiny portions that he can swallow in one go. It takes him twice as long to eat everything and he spends so much time focusing on not hurting himself and not choking that he starts despising meal times.

When it’s time for the first implantation surgery, he gets another surprise. He’s the first to admit he hasn’t been paying complete attention to the process that he’s going to be undergoing.

After the first surgery, he’s staring into the mirror the next morning, looking for the new teeth that are supposed to be in his mouth.

There aren’t any. There is a row of three small white knobs in a spot where three teeth are supposed to be, and there’s another white knob in the back where one of his molars is supposed to be.

He goes to find Steve in the kitchen. “Rogers, where the hell are my teeth?”

Steve blinks at him. “The ones Mandeep pulled out? I don’t know, Buck. I didn’t think you wanted—”

“Not those teeth, my _new_ teeth! Where are they? They ain’t in my mouth that’s for sure.”

Steve’s still staring at him. “I know they ain’t in your mouth. They aren’t finished yet. We got the posts implanted yesterday and you need to wait a few months until the implant fuses with your jawbone.”

“A few months?! How the hell am I supposed to eat?”

“Well….carefully? She put temporary caps on the implants but you should be really gentle with them.”

Bucky’s staring at him.

“Buck, I’m sorry, what’s going on? Mandeep explained this all to you weeks ago. It’s not that bad—I’ll keep finding you new food to try and it doesn’t matter if you take a bit longer to eat—”

“I don’t wanna spend the next year of my life sitting at a table, eating like I’m a two year old!”

Steve looks lost. “If you really want, we can go to Mandeep and get you dentures made. They’ll—”

For some reason, that enrages Bucky even further. “I don’t want God damn dentures like I’m some eighty year old!”

Steve finally gives up. “Then you have to toughen up and deal with it. The next few months will suck, but we’ll—”

As soon as the words are out of Steve’s mouth, he wants to take them back. Out of all the stupid things he can possibly say, that’s near the top of the list. “Buck, I’m sorry, I—”

“Toughen up? You want me to _toughen up_? You have no fucking idea what it means to toughen up!”

With that, Bucky storms into his room, slamming his door behind him, leaving Steve behind.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time to find out why Bucky's in such a terrible mood. Enjoy!

Steve leaves him alone for a few days. Bucky is obviously angry but Steve has no idea why. Even if Bucky hadn’t been paying attention to the medical related discussions he’s been part of, he should be able to deal with the situation.

Every month, they’ll go back to Dr. Dhesi and more posts will be implanted. They’ll stagger it so the process will be done as quickly as possible and Bucky will always have one side of his mouth where he can eat without disturbing the new implants. Approximately 4 months (Steve is hoping it’ll be three or less) after an implantation session, they’ll do x-rays to determine if the implants have fused sufficiently with his jawbone and Mandeep can attach the new teeth caps.

If things go well, Bucky should have a mouthful of new teeth in a year.

Steve knows the eating issue is annoying for Bucky, but it isn’t the end of the world. Steve deliberately makes food that’s easy to swallow or already pre-cut into smaller pieces, and he slows his own eating pace to match Bucky’s. They rarely go out to eat anyway and Steve’s fine eating at home for the next year to make Bucky more comfortable. None of it should be that big of an issue for him.

But whatever the issue is, Steve decides respecting Bucky’s space and mood is more important than figuring out what’s bothering him for the time being. He figures Bucky will come around when he’s ready.

On the second day of Bucky’s snit, Sam calls Steve and invites him to the movies. Steve tells Bucky through his bedroom door exactly when he’s leaving, but Bucky never responds and doesn’t leave his room when it’s time to leave, so Steve leaves him there. When he’s back, Steve offers to tell Bucky about the movie, but when he gets no response, he leaves him alone.

Bucky comes out of his room to get water, yoghurt and pieces of bread. When Steve offers him a plate of chopped up spaghetti one night, Bucky walks right past him and disappears into his room without acknowledging the food.

On Thursday afternoon, Steve gets a phone call from Jemisha’s panicked secretary, asking him if he knew where James was. They’d been trying to reach him but he wasn’t picking up his phone.

“Yeah, he’s here at home,” Steve says. He knows Bucky hadn’t bothered going to his therapy session but he had assumed that he’d cancelled it. “He didn’t cancel his session?”

“No, he didn’t. We were getting really concerned.”

Steve swallows a sigh and glances at Bucky’s closed door. “I’m really sorry. He’s sick and I guess he forgot to cancel. I’m really sorry.”

“That’s alright, Steve. As long as James is okay, that’s what’s important. Please have him call us if he’s going to miss next week’s appointment, and let him know we hope he gets better soon.”

“I’ll tell him. Thank you.”

He hangs up and heads to Bucky’s room. He knocks on the door. “Buck? Please open the door.”

No reply.

He knocks again.

“Go away, Rogers!”

“I know you heard my conversation just now. If you’re in a bad mood, that’s fine, but you can’t be inconveniencing everybody around you. Jesus, Buck. Why didn’t you call and cancel the appointment?”

“Last I checked, they’re my therapy appointments, not yours so it’s none of your business! Get away from my door!”

Steve throws up his hands in defeat and then goes into his own room, shutting the door behind him.

As he’s sitting on the couch the next morning, staring at the television that he forgot to turn on, Steve starts to realize that this is probably about more than just the eating situation.

Maybe Bucky regrets going to the dentist.

Maybe he blames Steve for the entire situation.

And technically wasn’t Steve the one who brought up the dentist in the first place? So technically it _is_ Steve’s fault that Bucky can’t eat.

What if Bucky hates him?

What if—what if Bucky is putting together a plan to leave?

Oh, my God.

Bucky is going to leave him.

_Bucky is going to leave him._

He stares at the dark television, breathing too fast and feeling terrified.

Bucky is going to leave him.

Bucky is going to leave him.

Wait. Wait, wait, _wait_.

It’s not him thinking these things. It’s troll. These are definitely troll-type thoughts. He knows what he needs to do in these situations.

He stares at a spot on the couch next to him and troll quickly materializes. The panicked thoughts continue, but now they’re coming from troll.

Troll is grinning and clapping his hands in delight as he yells those terrifying words at him.

Bucky is going to leave you.

Bucky is going to leave you.

Troll gets louder and louder, yelling the words over and over again. He sounds thrilled. He’s bouncing on the couch, he’s so happy.

Bucky is going to leave you.

Bucky is going to leave you because you’re stupid and annoying and made Bucky go to the dentist when he obviously didn’t want to.

No. Stop. Stop it. You’re not right. You’re never right.

Bucky can’t eat. That’s your fault, isn’t it? Because you’re an idiot who doesn’t deserve Bucky.

Steve shakes his head firmly and gets off the couch, trying to put some distance between them. Troll hops off the couch too and follows along behind him, chanting about how he’s going to be alone forever.

Steve wishes Bucky would help him. He wishes Bucky would tell troll to shut up. Steve knows what troll’s saying isn’t right and doesn’t need to be listened to.

Well, it _sounds_ right. But he knows it isn’t.

Bucky says troll is never right. And between Bucky and troll, who’s Steve going to trust more?

But Bucky’s in his room, dealing with his own troll.

Steve has to handle this on his own.

He abruptly rounds on troll.

“Shut up!” he hisses at it. He keeps his voice low enough that Bucky will hopefully not hear him.

“You’re the idiot, not me! Shut up! Bucky’s not leaving me because I made him go to the dentist! That’s stupid. Bucky’s angry about something but whatever it is, we’re gonna work through it and he’s not leaving me.”

Troll is smirking at him and crosses his arms over his chest. _Really?_ You’re gonna work through it? Obviously Bucky wants nothing to do with you.

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, _shut up!_ Get the hell out of here!” he hisses, pointing at the door.

When troll doesn’t move, Steve marches over to the door, wrenches it open and raises an eyebrow at troll. “I’ll go over there and physically kick you out if you don’t move.”

Troll’s smirk slowly disappears and he gives Steve a glare as he slowly walks past him and out into the hallway.

Steve slams the door, then manages to catch it right before it bangs shut and closes it quietly.

He stands at the door, closing his eyes for a moment.

Silence.

Beautiful, soothing silence.

Now that he’s back to thinking clearly, he realizes that there was one small part of that conversation that was true.

He and Bucky have to work through whatever is bothering him. It’s more than just a bad mood. If Bucky wanted to get through it on his own, he’s had several days and he doesn’t appear to be any closer to a solution. So it’s time for some teamwork.

Steve goes and sits on the floor by Bucky’s room, leaning against his door. He won’t leave until he has some answers.

Or until Bucky opens the door and kicks him away.

“Buck, please tell me why you’re so angry. I know it ain’t about the eating. That’s annoying, sure, but you can deal with it. You’ve dealt with so many things that are so much worse than that. We’ll keep working on it, together. We’ll find new food, new ways to prepare it, we can start having day-long meals where we’re eating small things throughout the entire day—I don’t care. I’ll do whatever you want to make this easier for you, but I can’t help you if you stay angry and won’t talk to me.”

Nothing.

Steve sighs softly. “Please, Buck? Don’t shut me out. Please. I thought we agreed that we’d always communicate, right? I know it’s hard to do when you’re angry—trust me, I know—but please. _Please_ , Buck.”

Still nothing.

Several minutes go by. Finally, Steve can hear some rustling sounds. Abruptly, Bucky’s door is pulled open. Steve doesn’t have time to brace himself and he goes sprawling backwards into Bucky’s room.

“Hi, Buck.” Steve says, looking up at him.

Bucky doesn’t look amused. “Get off the floor.”

Steve scrambles to obey. He opens his mouth but Bucky holds up a hand. He gestures for Steve to follow him and they head out into the living room. He shoves Steve towards the couch while he has a seat on the rocking chair.

Steve seats himself on the couch, staring at Bucky across from him. It’s very rare for either of them to sit in the rocking chair. It’s mainly used by Sam or Alina, but Steve and Bucky always sit on the couch.

Steve guesses Bucky wants to maintain some distance between them.

“I’m angry,” Bucky says.

No kidding. “Yeah, I got that. Why?”

*             *             *

When Bucky stares into the mirror and realizes he’s going to have to eat like a toothless old man for an entire year, at first he feels upset.

Not exactly devastated, but upset. He’s upset about the time that will be wasted. He’s upset that he won’t be able to enjoy food the way he usually does. He’s upset that he’ll be inconveniencing Steve for an entire year. The man likes cooking, sure, but he never signed up to cook for a toothless old man.

And that’s what he is, isn’t it? A toothless old man.

He’s missing nearly all of his teeth, he’s got a useless left arm, his back and shoulders constantly hurt, his brain is a mess, he can’t deal with a little drill, he has terrifying nightmares that still wake him up several times a week—and more often than not also end up waking Steve—

He’s a mess.

No, not just a mess.

People say they’re a mess when they can’t get their hair under control in the morning.

This is way bigger than that.

He’s a broken, disfigured shell of a person.

He’s surprised when his self-pity and despair quickly morph into anger.

He’s not sure why he’s angry, but he likes it better than the self-pity.

He picks a stupid fight with Steve over his teeth and then goes into his room, wanting to be alone.

He finds himself shifting back and forth between self-pity at the broken thing that he is, and blind rage at Hydra.

He never did anything to them. _Nothing_.

And they destroyed him. They broke him into little pieces and re-built him to their liking—they turned him into their toy and any part of him that wasn’t necessary to be a functioning toy was destroyed or left to rot.

Sure, they weren’t the ones who damaged his left arm originally, but they’re the ones who gave him this heavy, useless chunk of metal as a replacement. A chunk of metal that’s destroying his back and his shoulders and makes him feel like he’s a ninety year old crippled with arthritis.

And his teeth! _His teeth!_

They couldn’t be bothered to let him brush his teeth once in seventy years and now he’s a toothless creature hobbling around. They took his teeth for no reason other than they didn’t care about them.

It’s just like his mind—his mind is a mess because they didn’t care about it. They didn’t care what damage they were inflicting.

Those stupid, stupid pieces of shit just didn’t care and they left him in pieces. They broke him and now he has to spend the time to put himself back together.

They don’t have to lift a finger—no, no— _he_ has to do all the work. They do the damage and he has to do the fixing.

And that’s. Not. Fair.

It’s not _their_ time that’s being sucked up with the fixing process—it’s _his_. They forced him to become this thing and now they don’t have to do a thing to fix the mess that’s left behind.

He has to go to therapy. He has to go to the dentist. Steve has to give him massages. He has to sit on the floor and practice having a stupid little tool buzzing in front of his face.

Not to mention the cost!

Steve is spending thousands of dollars getting his mind and teeth fixed. That’s money Hydra should have to be paying, but they’re not.

They destroyed him and they don’t have to lift a finger to put him back together.

And that makes him unbelievably angry.

The pieces of shit had no right to rip him apart in the first place but on top of that, they never bothered to try to put him back together if the fixing didn’t have a direct impact on his ability to complete missions.

Hydra turned a normal, healthy young man into a crippled, busted up shell of a person.

When he gets tired of being angry, he lets the self-pity come crawling back in.

He used to be such a catch. He knows he was a good looking fella back in the day. He had all his limbs, most of his teeth, a ready smile, a great laugh. He’d been a soldier who killed for his country and helped protect the people who couldn’t protect themselves.

Now he’s a pile of leftover parts that haven’t died yet.

How on earth can Steve tolerate being near him now? How is it even remotely possible that Steve is in love with him?

He understands why Steve loved the old Bucky. Everybody loved the old Bucky.

But he has no idea how Steve can love the current Bucky.

This Bucky is just a ghost of his former self—no teeth, a useless arm, a brain that only remembers half of his life.

Steve probably only puts up with him because he pities him.

Lord—what if this entire time, Steve hasn’t really wanted him near, but only put up with him because he pitied him??

And with that thought, he’s back to the anger.

Hydra had no right— _no right_ —to turn him into this broken thing that people pity.

*             *             *

Bucky deliberately choses to sit on the rocking chair. He’s not comfortable letting Steve near him at the moment. How can anybody want to sit next to him? Nobody should have to sit next to him.

Not in this century anyway.

Girls and boys used to fight with each other over who got to sit next to him.

Not anymore.

Not since Hydra destroyed him.

Not since the stupid pieces of shit destroyed him.

Bucky is silent for a few minutes, staring at the far wall. He has no idea where to start. Steve wants to know what’s bothering him. Well—what the hell isn’t bothering him these days?

He thinks it over.

Well, there’s one thing that’s bothering him more than anything else. He decides to start with that.

“They destroyed me.”

*             *             *

Steve blinks, not understanding Bucky’s outburst. “What?”

Bucky makes a dismissive gesture, encompassing himself while he glares at the coffee table. “They wrecked me. They destroyed—they _destroyed_ —look at my _teeth_!”

Did Bucky really think Mandeep was going to leave his mouth like that? Jesus, the man really hadn’t been paying attention when they’d discussed the procedure. “I promise you, I know it looks bad now, but Mandeep and her team will—”

Bucky makes an annoyed sound. “I’m not talking about the damn dentist, Rogers! I’m talking about Hydra!”

Steve is stunned into silence, not knowing what to say.

“I was looking at my teeth, the ones I’ve got left, and I got so mad. They just destroyed my teeth for no reason. I never did anything to Hydra, and they destroyed my mouth. Then I realized they didn’t just destroy my mouth, they destroyed all of me. They turned me into this broken, crippled thing.”

“Buck, you ain’t a—”

“ _Really?_ I ain’t?! They broke and ripped and stomped every part of me into pieces. All that’s left are some broken pieces that are barely being held together. I ain’t got teeth, I ain’t got a good left arm, I only got half a functioning brain. And they just did it because they wanted a toy to play with! A fucking toy to play with! They had no right to do that to me! _No_ right!”

Steve is silent.

“And when I realized what a disgusting thing Hydra had turned me into, I got even more mad, because I realized that you—“ Bucky abruptly cuts himself off.

Steve waits, hoping Bucky will finish. “Realized that I what?”

Bucky makes a face and stares at the carpet. “You’re only putting up with me because you pity me. And that’s fine—that’s—I get it. I do. But it’s just throwing me a bit cause I didn’t—”

“You think I _pity_ you?”

The glare reappears on Bucky’s face. “Obviously!”

“No, there’s no obviously here. Barnes, I’ve never pitied you a day in my life. Never. I—I feel terrible about the things Hydra put you through but that ain’t pity.”

Bucky scoffs.

“You can scoff all you like but it won’t change it. Buck, I’ve loved you since we were teenagers. Nothing you ever did changed how I felt about you—not you running around with girls, not you being an idiot, not you dying. And now that I have you back and you’re alive and I’m allowed to hold you and love you every single day, you think I give a damn that you ain’t exactly the same as when I started loving you?”

Bucky opens his mouth to reply but Steve shakes his head. “No, let me finish. I ain’t the same person I was back then either. You love me just the same even if my brain ain’t as healthy as it was back then, don’t you?”

A scoff. “Obviously.”

“It’s the same for me, Buck. _It’s the same for me_. I’m so grateful every day that I got you back. It ain’t pity, James Buchanan Barnes. It never was and never will be.”

Steve wants to go to Bucky so badly and pull him into his arms, but he holds back, not sure how Bucky’s feeling.

The thought occurs to him that he’s damn glad he made troll shut up and pushed Bucky into talking about what was bothering him. He feels terrible for what Buck’s going through, but he also feels vindicated in a strange way, knowing that once again, life has proven troll wrong. Bucky was never going to leave him—that thought had never even been on the table.

Steve knows troll will come up with more nonsense in the future, but for now, he’ll enjoy the peace and focus on Bucky.

Bucky’s silent for a moment, glaring at the carpet. Then: “How can you not be mad at Hydra?”

“What?”

“How can you be okay with what they did?”

Steve blinks. “Buck, that ain’t what I’m saying. At all. I ain’t okay with what Hydra did. I’m mad as hell. Mad. As. Hell. But being mad at Hydra all the time would take up a lot of my time and I probably wouldn’t be a very nice person to be around, and I’ve got a lot better things to do in life, like spend my time loving you. So if I have to pick between being mad at Hydra or loving you, that’s no contest.”

Bucky wearily runs a hand through his hair. “I’m mad,” he says quietly.

Steve presses his lips together. “I know. And you have every right to be mad.”

Bucky snorts. “Sure I do. But what’s it gonna get me? Hydra isn’t here. They ain’t gonna be fussed with me being angry with them.”

“Buck, I think you should talk to Jemisha about this. I think there’s probably a reason why you’re mad now and she can help you deal with it. As for the other stuff, I promise you, I’m not here because of pity. I love you and it don’t matter to me how many teeth you got in your mouth. But just to make it clear—you’re gonna have new teeth, it’ll just take a while. But I promise, I don’t love you any less while you ain’t got your all your teeth.”

Bucky’s still glaring at the carpet. “You can’t pretend that I’m as attractive as I was back then.”

Steve sighs. “I don’t know how to convince you, Buck, but I promise you, if you woke up tomorrow and looked the same way you did when we were twenty-one, my love for you couldn’t get any bigger. That’s not possible.”

They lapse into silence.

“I wish I could love myself the way I did back then,” Bucky whispers. His head’s hanging down so his hair frames his face, hiding him from view.

Steve curls his fingers around the edge of the couch cushions so he doesn’t reach over to brush Buck’s hair behind his ears.

“You will, Buck. I know you will. We’ll take it one day at a time and maybe it’ll take a while, but I have no doubt that one day you’ll love yourself for being the amazing person you’ve always been.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“Then I’ll love you enough for both of us. Don’t worry—I’ve got lots of Bucky love stored up. I can share.”

Bucky doesn’t crack a smile at the joke. Steve knows that’s a sign he’s still hurting.

“You wanna go for a bike ride, Buck? You haven’t been outside in a few days.”

He nods. He stays on the rocking chair while Steve gets their water bottles and a hair elastic to put up Bucky’s hair. “Come on, buddy.”

Bucky is quiet as they collect their things and head out. Steve leads, cycling along some of the familiar residential streets, Bucky following along behind him.

When they get back, there’s some more color in Bucky’s cheeks but he’s still quiet and angry. He keeps a careful distance between them, and Steve doesn’t push him.

*             *             *

Steve brings it up to Sam when they’re getting a coffee a few days later. Bucky had come with them for a run but then he’d headed back home, not wanting to join their coffee date.

Sam listens and then offers a tight smile. “It’s actually good. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but it’s good that he’s angry. It shows he’s viewing Hydra differently.”

Steve doesn’t get it and says so.

“Before this, how has he reacted when Hydra gets brought up?”

Steve shrugs. “He was always casual.”

“Acting like Hydra was allowed to do those things to him, right? Sure, he suffered, but he wasn’t angry. He accepted that Hydra had a reason for doing what they did. Now for the first time, he’s starting to accept that he was an innocent victim and Hydra had no right to do what they did. It’s a huge shift for him.”

Sam takes a sip of his coffee. “Many people in abusive relationships stay with their abuser because they believe the abuser has valid reasons for acting that way or they care for the abuser. But the lucky ones end up realizing that they’re victims and their abusers don’t deserve their love, affection or their acceptance of the behavior. James is standing up for himself for the first time since they broke him. Nobody from Hydra is actually here for him to vent his anger on, so it ends up being directed at the people he’s closest to—which happens to be you.”

Steve fiddles with his coffee cup. “I don’t care if he’s grumpy. I just want him to be okay. You’re sure this is a good thing?”

“Absolutely. He’s reclaiming a huge part of himself that Hydra took a long time ago. His therapist will help him direct the anger properly.”

“What do I do to help him?”

“Support him. Love him. Don’t push him. Basically, everything that you’ve always done for him. He’ll come around on his own.”

*             *             *

Bucky goes to see Jemisha and he’s withdrawn and upset for a while. Steve now understands it has nothing to do with him, so he gives Bucky his space, but stops by his room every night when the door is open and kneels down by his bed so he can give him a kiss good night on the forehead and remind him that he loves him.

Whenever they happen to be in the bathroom at the same time, Steve gently wraps his arms around Bucky and nods at their reflection in the mirror. “Hey, see that fella in the mirror?” Buck always responds by rolling his eyes. “I love him very much and I think he’s the greatest catch in this century or the last.”

One night, Bucky waits until Steve has given him the good night kiss. When Steve is pulling away, Bucky reaches up and pulls him back down and kisses him gently, then rests their foreheads together.

“Do you wanna stay, Stevie?”

Steve smiles happily. “Of course!”

Bucky shifts over and Steve wraps his arms around him, kissing his neck. “Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Bucky swallows hard. “I love you too, sweetheart. I’m sorry I ain’t being the best company these days.”

“Hush up, Barnes. It’s fine. You’re moving forward, that’s all that matters.”

*             *             *

Two weeks later, they have finished with the second set of implantations. The morning after the procedure, Steve is surprised when Bucky brings him the bag of dental supplies, including the polishing tool.

“You wanna practice again?”

“If you’ve got the time.”

Steve grins. “Well, I don’t know. Let me check my social calendar. Seeing how I’m always such a busy guy—”

Bucky rolls his eyes and jabs him in the ribs.

Steve puts on the mask and gloves and plugs in the polishing tool. He holds it in his lap while Bucky sits on the floor across from him. He puts some pomade on his upper lip and they do some breathing exercises, getting themselves calm and relaxed.

At a nod from Bucky, Steve turns on the tool and lets Bucky get accustomed to the sound. Gradually, Steve shifts closer to Bucky, holding the polisher in his hand.

Bucky keeps focused on his breathing and remembering where he is. Steve edges closer until they’re sitting directly across from each other, knees touching, the tool in Steve’s hand just below their chins.

“You okay, Buck?”

Bucky smiles. “Actually yes.” He feels slightly panicked and he knows his voice isn’t as steady as he’d like, but it’s progress.

“Just keep breathing, Buck. You’re doing so good.”

They sit for a few minutes, the little polisher screeching between them. Bucky is wavering between panicking and wanting to ignore the stupid thing.

Finally, Steve turns it off and pulls the mask off. He’s grinning. “Buck, that went great!”

Bucky’s still feeling a bit anxious but he’s also thrilled with himself. He takes the tool out of Steve’s hands and carefully puts it aside.

“I think I earned some Steve Rogers kisses,” he says, crawling into Steve’s lap. Steve laughs and tangles a hand in his hair and pulls him in for kisses, the polisher forgotten beside them.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A familiar face makes an appearance in this chapter!

The two of them are jogging along one of the quiet streets which lead to a nearby park, Suzy’s leash in Steve’s hand. They’ve taken over dog walking responsibilities for Alina while she’s recovering from a cold.

As they’re running, Bucky realizes his hands are empty—the same hands that should definitely have his water bottle in them. He slows and looks at Steve’s hands, which also don’t contain any water bottles.

“Damn, Rogers, did we forget the water bottles or are you hiding one somewhere?”

Steve slows and frowns down at their hands. He swears under his breath. “You wanna stay with Suzy or do you wanna go grab them?”

Bucky pats his pockets, checking to see if he has keys. Turns out, he’s also missing keys. He’s doing really well today. “I’ll go. Give me your keys.”

Steve digs his keys out and hands them over. Suzy’s whining, looking back and forth between them, not sure why they’ve stopped. Bucky reaches down and pats her on the head. “Don’t you worry, darling. I’ll be right back.”

He straightens and puts the key in his pocket and tightens the hair elastic in his hair. “I’ll meet you guys at the park.”

He leaves them and starts heading back to their building. He picks up speed as he goes, and at the last second, he decides to cut through the alley to his right. He can enter their building through the backdoor and save himself some time.

He veers off and heads down the alley—

—and bowls over a woman standing directly in his path.

They both go sprawling, Bucky letting out a curse as he falls. He recovers quickly and pushes himself to his feet.

“I’m so sor—”

She’s also on her feet and their eyes meet for a split second before she spins around and hurries away from him.

But that split second is enough.

Natasha Romanov. Black Widow. SHIELD agent. Her hair is dark brown and shorter than the last time he had seen her, but it’s definitely her.

She’s hurrying away from him, probably hoping he didn’t recognize her.

He panics.

SHIELD had stopped trailing Steve months ago. What possible reason did they have to start again? Whatever it was, it can’t be good.

And he isn’t going to let her get away without answering questions.

He races after her and makes a grab for her arm. She must have been anticipating the grab because she lands a solid kick at his legs as she spins around. He lunges for her arm with his left arm, and they’re off, Romanov on the offensive, trying to get away, while he’s trying to contain her.

He’s not in the same shape he was in the last time he had fought her and he’s lost a lot of the muscle mass, but he’s still close to matching her in strength. She’s much quicker than him so he focuses on countering her attacks and trying to absorb her blows and kicks with his left arm while trying to grab her.

When it’s clear that he won’t win, he starts panicking. If it were just about him, he’d let her go and figure out what SHIELD wanted later. But they’re after Steve and that means whatever’s going on will be stopped now.

There are no other options.

He realizes that she may not be alone—other agents could be tailing Steve _right now_.

Steve who’s unaware of the danger and has poor Suzy with him.

Fear for Steve gives him a surge of adrenalin and he manages to grab her leg with his left arm as she aims another kick at him. He refuses to release her leg and dodges a punch. She swings herself up over his back and he knows she’s going for his neck, so he twists himself and slams his back—and her—into the nearest wall.

She lets out a grunt of pain, but that’s enough for him to twist around and pin her to the wall. He gets her down to the ground, pins her legs and both of her arms. He puts as much weight on his left arm as he dares. He doesn’t want to crush her wrist, but he wants it to hurt enough that she’ll focus on that and stop trying to get away.

“I’m not letting you hurt him, do you hear me? I don’t care what your orders are, I don’t care what problem the world is dealing with, I don’t care what motivations you have—I’m not letting you touch him,” he hisses into her face. His fear is mainly coming out as anger. He uses it: glaring at her and digging in with his knees and metal arm.

“He doesn’t owe SHIELD _anything_ and you have no right to be spying on him. Do you understand me? I will not let you hurt a hair on his head.”

The fight slowly drains from her. He frowns down at her. Giving up is highly uncharacteristic of the widow. He doesn’t ease up on his grip, guessing she’s probably trying to lull him into a false sense of victory before getting the upper hand.

She’s giving him a wry smile. “That was supposed to be my line,” she says.

He frowns. “What? I’m not in the mood for stupid jokes.”

“The whole ‘If you hurt him, I’ll kill you’ thing. It was supposed to be me saying it to you.”

He isn’t fooled. “Shut up. I’m not an idiot. I don’t care what game SHIELD is playing—”

“Buck! What the hell are you _doing_?”

Bucky swallows a groan. _Damn_. Of course, the man had to come find him. Steve was drawn to trouble like a damn magnet.

He starts panicking. If there are other agents around, there’s little chance that he and Steve will win against them. If he releases Romanov, she can finish them both off, never mind if she has other assistance. And if he doesn’t release her, Steve will be completely on his own.

He takes his eyes off her for just a second to look down the alley where he sees Steve approaching, Suzy lumbering along beside him, her tail wagging, excited to see Bucky.

“Rogers, stay back! She’s SHIELD!”

Steve stops, frowning. He hasn’t come close enough to recognize Romanov yet.

“Buck, what’s going on?”

Romanov sighs. “Let me up, Barnes.”

“In your dreams. Where are the others?” he snarls.

“There aren’t any others. This isn’t SHIELD tailing Rogers, this is me looking out for my friend. I don’t even work for SHIELD anymore.”

He’s not buying it.

Steve’s coming closer again. Bucky growls in his throat. How he puts up with this idiot every day is beyond him. “Jesus, Rogers, get out of here! Please!”

“Who is she, Buck?”

“Hi, Rogers,” Romanov calls over.

Steve visibly trips over his own feet as he recognizes her voice. “Nat?!” He hurries over and stares down at them.

“Oh, my God, Nat! What are you—Jesus, Barnes, let her up.”

“She’s SHIELD, Steve.”

“I don’t care what she is. If she wanted to kill me, she’d have done it long ago. If she’s here to talk business, I’ll give her a few minutes, I owe her that respect.”

Romanov smiles. “What if I’m here as a friend?”

“That’s even better. That means I won’t have to restrain you during our conversation.”

Bucky’s still staring down at her, torn between wanting to keep Steve safe versus trusting Steve.

Steve crouches down beside them. “Buck, please. I know you’re worried. It’s okay. I promise. This isn’t how Nat would deal with an enemy.”

He risks a quick glance at Steve. “If she even looks at you the wrong—”

“I know. Believe me, I’ll help.”

Slowly, Bucky releases the pressure on her wrists and stands up. Steve reaches down a hand and hauls Romanov to her feet.

The three of them stare at each other for a moment, until Suzy interrupts by whining and head-butting Romanov’s hand.

She looks down at the dog. “It’s okay, Suzy.”

Bucky glares. “Quit showing off how much you’ve learned about our lives.”

She gives him a look. “The two of you yell this dog’s name up and down the street multiple times a week. I don’t think there’s anybody in the neighborhood who doesn’t know her name.”

“Let’s get out of this alleyway,” Steve says.

Bucky thinks he’s going to lead them back to their apartment and he’s ready to launch into a major protest—he has no desire to spend the next few days sweeping the entire apartment for the bugs Romanov will no doubt leave behind—but Steve leads them out of the alleyway and heads down the road towards the park.

Suzy is leading the way, pulling Steve behind her. Romanov trails after him and Bucky walks behind her.

Once they’re at the park, Steve has a seat at one of the picnic tables. Suzy lies down underneath it, panting quietly. Romanov sits across from Steve, and Bucky remains standing at the end of the table.

“Hands on the table, Romanov,” he says.

She obliges and places both hands flat on the table. She’s smiling at Steve.

“You look good, Rogers.”

He smiles. “So do you. A bit different, but good. Nice hair.”

She shrugs. “The red is too distinctive. I wanted to change things up when I got back to the US.”

“So you’re not working for SHIELD?”

“Nope. I’m doing private jobs. It’s nice. I get to pick and choose what assignments I do.”

“And you get to take time off to spy on Rogers,” Bucky cuts in.

She smiles. “Yes, that is a definite perk.”

“How long have you been following him?” Bucky demands.

“Three weeks.”

“Why?”

She gives Bucky a long look. “I got back to Washington to look up one of my closest friends and I find him living with the world’s deadliest assassin. I was a bit concerned.”

Steve frowns. “I told you who he was after the bridge incident.”

“Yes, but I didn’t know if _he_ knew who he was. I didn’t know if you were just chasing a dream and putting yourself at risk. I wanted to assess the situation for myself without either of you interfering.”

Bucky has to admit her story makes sense. If the situation were reversed and Steve went chasing after a brainwashed Romanov and suddenly started living with her, he’d be concerned too.

“And what are your findings?” Steve asks.

She laughs. “Look at you. It’s mid-day on a Wednesday and you’re both out for a jog with your neighbor’s dog. And the rest of your daily activities are just as boring and domestic.”

Steve smiles. “Did you break out in hives watching us?”

She grins. “Not quite. Surprisingly, I got used to it. It’s not my style, but it suits you. Both of you.”

“I’m not a threat to him,” Bucky snaps.

Romanov turns to look at him. “I know, Barnes. I know. I still think Rogers took an really stupid risk letting you live with him, but you’re not a risk to him. If I thought you were, I would have intervened as soon as I got back to Washington. I’m going to have some words with Sam Wilson, since I expect this kind of idiotic optimism from Rogers, but I thought Wilson had more common sense.”

“Don’t be too hard on Sam. He did have objections and concerns, and I appreciated all of them.”

“But you ignored them.”

“Yes, but only because ever since Bucky showed up at the museum, I knew it was Bucky and not the Winter Soldier. And I’ve always known Bucky’s motivations and wants. Always.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile is fond. “I still think you’re an idiot.”

Steve shrugs. “I still think you’re paranoid.”

She grins back at him and then Steve looks over at Bucky, who still has his arms crossed over his chest and is glaring at Romanov.

“Buck, can I talk to you by the swings for a second?”

“We’re taking Suzy with us.”

“Sure.”

Bucky gestures for Steve to take Suzy’s leash and coax her out from under the table while he watches Romanov.

They head over to the swings. Bucky walks backwards, keeping a close eye on Romanov. He’s a bit pleased to see her hands remain on the table.

Steve sits down in one of the swings and gently sways back and forth. Bucky stands beside him, leaning against the swing-set pole, watching Romanov.

“Buck, I trust her. I don’t need you to trust her, but I’d like you not to be rude.”

“We have no idea if she’s lying, Steve!”

Steve gives a half shrug. “Even if she’s spying for SHIELD, what’s the point? So she goes back and reports that we’re living completely normal lives—so what? What’s anybody going to do with that information?”

Bucky shifts around. “She knows who I was. What if she tells somebody?”

“First of all, if anybody ever finds out and tries anything, I will fight tooth and nail for you. Don’t you worry. About five seconds after we find out that somebody knows, we’re going to be in a car heading to Canada or Australia. Or Antarctica. Don’t even worry about that.”

Bucky manages a small smile. “Are you saying you’ll steal a car for me?”

“Of course I’d steal a car for you, jerk. Stop changing the subject. I don’t think she told anybody and I don’t think she will. If she wanted to, she would have told the world months ago—at the very least, she’d have told SHIELD a month ago when she started spying on us.”

“You really don’t think she’s SHIELD?”

“No. I really don’t. But like I said, I’m not asking you to trust her. I’d just like you to be less rude. Can you do that?”

Bucky grunts.

“Buck…”

“Fine, yes. Yes, I’ll be less rude.”

“Great. Thanks. Would you be okay with inviting her over or no?”

Bucky makes a face.

Steve laughs. “Alright, there’s my answer. No problem. I won’t invite her over today. Let’s play things slow and hopefully that’ll make you more comfortable.”

He heads back to the picnic table with Suzy and has a seat. Bucky trails after him and comes to a stop at the head of the table.

“Thanks for waiting, Nat,” Steve says.

“No problem.”

“So what’s your plan?”

She shrugs. “I have a few jobs I was thinking of picking up here in Washington, so I’ll be around for a few more weeks.”

Steve smiles. “Wanna come to Sam’s on Friday? We’re having dinner together.”

“Sure. Barnes, is that okay with you?”

He shrugs. “Whatever. Just don’t come armed.”

That was as good as that was going to get at this point.

*             *             *

The dinner goes as well as expected. Bucky doesn’t like having to spend an entire evening with somebody he doesn’t trust, but seeing how happy Steve is to be in the company of his friends makes him keep his mouth shut.

Bucky sits at the head of the table where he can keep an eye on everybody. It’s clear that he’s not in the mood to participate in conversation, so they leave him be. He’s busy keeping a steady eye on Romanov. It means he can’t eat much, but that’s alright. He doesn’t like eating in front of other people these days with his various dental related issues.

She tolerates his distrust without missing a beat. She keeps her hands visible at all times and keeps her movements slow and predictable.

She and Steve spend a lot of time discussing their shared history and SHIELD while Sam chimes in from time to time. As usual, Sam, his girlfriend and Steve go off on a tangent about baseball and discuss how the Nationals are currently doing.

When Steve and Bucky had discovered that Sam was a huge Washington Nationals fan, they had decided to throw their support to their home team. Supporting the Dodgers, Mets or the Yankees would be too weird for them, and they figured supporting the Nationals would be another good way to settle into their home town. It’s a conversation Bucky would usually love being part of, but he’s too busy being paranoid about Romanov.

She asks a few questions about Steve and Bucky, but Steve steers the questions away, knowing Bucky isn’t comfortable sharing such information with her at this point.

When they get home, Steve surprises him by producing a plate full of the dish that Steve had brought to the dinner. He’d put it aside for Bucky, having correctly assumed that he wouldn’t eat much in company. He heats it up and helps Bucky cut everything into small manageable pieces. They sit on the couch and watch an episode of the house hunting show while Bucky slowly makes his way through his dinner.

When he’s done, Steve takes the plate from him and gives him a kiss. “Thanks for coming with me, Buck. I had a great time.”

Bucky smiles and pulls him back for another kiss. “Then that’s all that matters.”

*             *             *

The polishing tool screeches loudly, held in Steve’s hand between them. Bucky’s staring at Steve’s eyes behind the mask. He’s holding Steve’s other hand, calmly counting. Five up…five down. Five up…five down.

“You’re doing so good, Buck.”

“I wanna try lying down,” Bucky says. Steve nods and moves back.

Bucky lies down on the carpet, staring up at the ceiling. He keeps his breathing even, inhaling the familiar scent of the pomade that’s under his nose.

Despite the tool screeching in Steve’s hands, he finds that the noise barely bothers him anymore. It’s just noise. It won’t hurt him.

“Okay, come closer.”

Steve shuffles closer and stops.

There’s no panic. No anxiety. No change.

“Closer. Come right up to me.”

Steve slowly knee-walks up to him, holding the polisher. The sound is louder now that he’s closer, but Bucky still feels relaxed. It won’t hurt him. He’s okay. It won’t hurt him.

“How you doing, Buck?”

“I’m okay. I really am. I feel good. Lean over me, Stevie. Not with the polisher, just you.”

Steve holds the tool away from himself and leans over Bucky. He smiles down at him. “Hi.”

Bucky smiles. He’s so used to seeing Steve with the mask on that it’s become normal. Steve reaches up and gently touches his face with his gloved hand. “You’re doing so good, Buck.”

“Bring it closer.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and keeps himself relaxed. He’s okay. It won’t hurt him.

He reaches out and grabs Steve’s hand which had been touching his face. He puts their clasped hands on his belly.

Steve slowly brings the polisher closer to his face until the sound fills the entire space around him and Bucky can see light glinting off the metal.

A small surge of panic races through him, but he calmly starts counting on Steve’s fingers. Five up…five down.

Everything’s okay. It won’t hurt him.

He stares at the tool, only a few inches from his nose. He’s fine. He’s fine.

They stay like that for several minutes. Then Steve starts withdrawing the polisher. He releases Bucky’s hand and shuffles back across the carpet. Moving slowly, he sits back and then turns off the tool.

The silence is strange after the constant noise. Bucky slowly sits up, feigning nonchalance.

“Well, that was alright.”

Steve puts the tool down and he’s got such a huge grin on his face that Bucky can see it despite the mask on his face. “Alright?! Are you kidding me, Barnes?! You did it! Oh, my God, you did it!”

Bucky grins back and shuffles across the carpet towards Steve. Steve meets him halfway and wraps him in a hug. He’s cheering and jostling them around, completely unaware he’s still wearing the mask and gloves.

Bucky feels a sense of immense pride wash over him. He reaches up and pulls the mask off Steve’s face, tossing it behind him. He grabs Steve’s face and kisses him hard.

“That was amazing, Stevie! Amazing!” he laughs in-between kisses.

*             *             *

They watch the Nationals game on television that evening, then Steve disappears into the bathroom for a shower. Bucky is left sitting beside Steve’s phone.

He knows he has some time. He sighs.

If he doesn’t do it now, he probably never will.

He turns the phone on, punches in Steve’s passcode and flips through his contacts. Steve doesn’t have a lot of contacts in there so it’s easy to find Romanov’s entry.

He hesitates for a moment, but then recalls Jemisha’s words from an earlier session. He’s in a serious relationship with Steve, a relationship he very much wants to maintain. That means learning to deal with a certain person in Steve’s life who is important to him, no matter what Bucky’s personal opinion of that person might be. He still doesn’t trust Romanov, but he knows he’s hurting Steve by not getting along with her. Jemisha had pointed out that he needs to decide what’s more important to him—his personal likes or dislikes, or Steve’s happiness. That sealed the deal right there.

He pushes her contact button and holds the phone to his ear as it rings.

She picks up almost immediately. “Hi, Rogers.”

“It’s not Rogers, it’s Barnes.”

She pauses. “Barnes. Is Rogers okay?”

He appreciates that Steve’s well-being is her first priority. That gives her a big plus point in his books.

“He’s fine.”

“Okay. I have to tell you that I’m tired and I’m not in the mood to play twenty questions, especially if you want to ask the questions that I’ve already answered three times.”

Bucky fiddles with a piece of cookie that he’d been making his way through. He breaks it into smaller chunks with his metal hand until they’re small enough to dissolve on his tongue. He’ll deserve the treat once the conversation is over.

“Look, Steve doesn’t have a lot of friends, and whether I like it or not, you’re one of those friends. He knows you make me uncomfortable and he hates making me uncomfortable, so I know that one day he’s gonna feel like he has to choose between us. I don’t want him to get to that point.”

She’s quiet.

He breaks another chunk. “It’s really important to me that he doesn’t have to make that choice. So I want to work on getting to know you and hopefully improve our relationship.”

“Did you memorize that speech from the internet?”

He huffs a laugh. “No. I memorized the speech from my therapist.”

“Hmm. Your therapist sounds pretty smart.”

“She is. Don’t act like you don’t know who she is. I know you know who she is, when my appointments are and what bus route I take to get there.”

She laughs. “Fine. Guilty. Jemisha Williams is a smart lady.”

“Yes, she is. Anyway, I was wondering if we can meet up to talk. Steve won’t be there.”

“Sure. You pick the place. I’ll pick the time.”

“How about the park?”

“Alright. Friday at 11:30 am?”

“Okay. Thanks, Romanov.”

He can hear her smiling over the phone. “Anything for Rogers.”

Another plus point. “You know how to sweet-talk a guy, don’t you?”

She laughs and hangs up on him.

*             *             *

He tells Steve about his upcoming meeting with Romanov, but he insists on going alone. He leaves for the park a half hour early. He’s too anxious to wait any longer, and Steve keeps hovering.

He paces around when he’s at the park, keeping an eye out for Romanov.

He sees her when she’s still down the block, slowly sauntering towards him. She keeps her hands in view the entire time and she’s not trying to look intimidating.

She comes to a stop when she’s a few feet away. “Barnes.”

“Romanov.”

“Where do you wanna do this?”

Bucky jerks his head at the same picnic table where they’d conducted their first conversation. They head over and have a seat across from each other.

They both put their hands flat on the table’s surface after they sit.

She’s staring at him. “So, you gonna ask me if I work for SHIELD? The answer’s still no.”

He shrugs. “Would you trust me if the situation were reversed?”

She raises an eyebrow, looking surprised. “That’s a good point. But you also have to ask yourself what my motivations could be. If SHIELD wanted to force Steve to work for them, they wouldn’t have to tail him to know what buttons they could push to get him to do what they want.”

“And what buttons would those be?”

She gives him a look. “Don’t be stupid. You know the answer to that.”

Bucky can’t help but blush a bit. It’s still very new to him to have other people acknowledge what he and Steve mean to each other without them saying anything.

She smiles gently. “Besides, I should be having just as many trust issues as you, shouldn’t I? My friend is living with somebody who had his brain twisted and zapped for seventy years. Honestly, I’d prefer to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. But I trust Steve’s instincts and if he trusts you, I’m gonna do him the favor of also trusting you.”

He doesn’t respond, just stares at her, searching for some sign—some twitch, some shift, some tell that would clearly tell him she’s the enemy.

There isn’t one.

She’s right. Steve’s right too. If SHIELD wanted to force Steve to work for them, they wouldn’t need to send Romanov to spy on them. And she had been Steve’s friend at a time when he hadn’t had anybody else.

He sighs. “You think I should respect Steve’s trust for you.”

“You know him better than anybody. Does he usually blindly trust people?”

Bucky snorts. “To their face—yes. In reality—no.”

“And he trusts me. Otherwise he would have never allowed me to come to dinner with both you and Sam there.”

That’s another good point.

“You’ve got a lot of good points, Romanov,” he mutters.

She laughs. “I know, I’m terrible. Believe me, I’m as surprised about this as you are. I’m not used to having a lot of friends so usually I wouldn’t be bending over backwards to convince a friend’s partner to like me, but Steve’s important to me.”

“We have that in common.”

She smiles. “How about we start from the beginning? Forget our histories, forget our previous titles.” She sticks out a hand. “Natasha Romanov. Private contractor.”

He reaches out and gingerly shakes her hand, smiling a bit. “James Barnes. Unemployed veteran, recovering POW.”

She chuckles. “Nice to meet you. How do you support yourself if you’re unemployed, Barnes?”

He pauses, not accustomed to talking about his life with Steve like this. “My—uhm, my—”

“Partner,” she supplies.

“My partner, Steve. Uh, Steve Rogers, he’s a—retired?—veteran. He’s supporting both of us.”

“Oh, Steve Rogers? I know him. He’s a wonderful man.”

“He is.”

“How did you two meet?”

“We met at school.”

“Really? You went to the same school?”

“Yeah. Steve was in first grade and I was in second. We were out on the playground and a kid was being picked on by some fourth graders. Steve stood up for the kid and got his butt kicked, so I stepped in to help Steve and the kid.”

“Did you win?”

“Not even close—they kicked our butts. But after the teachers sent us home for fighting, we went to Steve’s ma and she cleaned us up. That set the tone for the rest of our lives.” He clears his throat. He knows the story because Steve’s told him about it a dozen times. He still doesn’t have any memory of it.

He has a list of memories which he’s still desperately hoping to get back. He never tells Steve about the list because it would make him cry.

Memories about his family, and his first meeting with Steve are at the top of that list.

“How did you meet him?” Bucky asks.

“We worked together. We were on the same team.”

“Oh. We have that in common.”

She laughs. “I guess we do. I was never his right hand man, though. That role always belonged to you.”

Bucky smiles softly. “Listen, I wanna thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being his friend. He’s never had a lot of friends and he had a tough time when he—woke up.”

She nods. “You’re welcome, but it’s not a hardship.”

Bucky laughs quietly. “No. He makes it easy.” Bucky gives her a hard look. “Once you’re done with your jobs in Washington, are you gonna disappear from his life again or are you gonna stick around?”

“If both of you want me around then I’ll be here whenever I can.” She pauses and gives him a soft look. “I think the two of us could be good friends, Barnes.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and decides to take the plunge. He’ll trust that skinny kid from Brooklyn on this. “My friends call me James.”

She smiles, looking pleased. “My friends call me Natasha.”

“Nice to meet you Natasha.”

“It’s nice to meet you, James.”


	22. Chapter 22

Mandeep sounds understandably apprehensive when Bucky calls her to inform her that he wants to try the next implantation surgery without the sedation.

“If the sedation has such bad after-effects, we can use full—”

“It’s not about the sedation, Mandeep. Steve and I have been working really hard to get me more comfortable with the sound of the tools, and we’ve had two weeks of fully successful practices. I think I’m ready. I’d like to try.”

She hesitates.

“Please?” he asks.

“I don’t want to cause you distress unnecessarily.”

“I know you don’t, and I really appreciate that, I do. But this is really important to me. I didn’t used to be scared of things like that. There were bad people who made me scared of those things, and I want to move past that.”

She sighs softly. “Alright. We’ll try. Let’s do the appointment at 7 am so we have lots of time.”

“Thank you.”

“If it’s too much for you then—”

“Then we’ll put a stop to it right away. Steve will be there and he’ll know when it’s too much for me, even before it gets really bad. We learned after last time. And after, I promise you can say ‘I told you so’.” He chuckles.

She doesn’t laugh. “I wouldn’t get any pleasure from something like that, James.”

Bucky sobers quickly. “Sorry. That wasn’t appropriate.”

“It’s alright. I’m just worried for you. But, I told you we’re on this journey together. If you want to try, we’ll try it.”

“Thank you. 7 am on Monday.”

“7 am on Monday. Don’t forget to bring the smelly hair stuff and Steve.”

He laughs. “I won’t forget, don’t worry.”

*             *             *

Bucky gets a call from Steve while he’s walking down from the third floor after having delivered Ed Baker’s two dogs back to him following their walk.

He flips open his phone and jams it under his ear as he searches through his jacket pockets for his key. “Hey.”

“Hi. They’re out of the Cheerios you like. Do you want another kind or do you want another cereal?”

Bucky makes a face. He finds his key and lets himself into the apartment. “I don’t want the grain one.”

“The multi-grain one? Okay. They have the apple cinnamon kind.”

“Yeah, okay. Get that one.”

“Okay. Listen,” Bucky hears some shuffling and suddenly Steve’s voice is quieter. “Nat’s with me. Do you mind if she comes by our place just for some lunch?”

Bucky’s been spending more time with Romanov lately, but Steve has still respected Bucky’s apprehensions about inviting her into their home.

He takes a deep breath. “Sure. Let her come. But she has to help put away groceries.”

Steve doesn’t laugh. “You sure? She hasn’t asked so it’s okay if we part ways at the building.”

“No, it’s fine. Let her come.”

“Okay. Can you go into my room and clean up a bit?”

Bucky laughs. “Yeah, sure. Hurry up and get home. Oh, and by the way, I’m a rich man.”

“Is that right?”

“Ed gave me ten dollars for walking both of his dogs. He insisted.”

“That’s great! Good for you, Buck. They appreciate the quality of the service they’re getting.”

“Even better, I can actually pay for bills this month!”

Steve laughs, sounding fond. “No, buddy, that money’s staying in your pocket and you spend it on whatever you want, but not on stupid bills.”

“Fine. In that case, I’m taking you out for an ice-cream date tomorrow. I’m paying.”

“I can’t wait. See you soon.”

“Bye,” he says, hanging up the phone.

He shrugs off his jacket and shoes and tidies up the living room and kitchen a bit, then heads into Steve’s room and makes his bed a bit neater and throws all the clothes that were meant to be in the laundry hamper into the actual hamper.

Steve and Natasha arrive half an hour later and Bucky greets them at the door, taking handfuls of groceries from them. They unpack everything and then Bucky and Natasha sit at the table while Steve starts cooking.

Steve enlists their help from time to time, but mainly they chat about their day.

She looks amused at how pleased he is by the ten dollars. “I hope you know that professional dog walkers charge about twice as much.”

Bucky shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t get a real job anyway, so I’ll take what I can get.”

She frowns. “Why?”

“Because I like spending time with their pets but it’s nice not having the responsibility of having our own.”

“No, I mean, why can’t you get a job? There are a lot more options these days than what you had in the 40s. You’re young and in good shape.”

Bucky makes a dismissive gesture. “That’s not the problem. I could do under the table stuff, but…”

Steve yells over a ‘Nope’ at him. Bucky laughs. “See? He’s fine with the dog walking but you know how he is—he’d want me paying taxes and all that.”

“You use public transit, you use the parks, you use the sidewalks, all the stuff that taxes pay for, Buck.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. It’s an argument they’ve had many times before. “I know, I know. Jesus, Rogers.”

She’s still frowning. “I still don’t see why you can’t get a job. Is it the—” she makes a vague gesture at his head.

“No. I mean, that would definitely be a factor, but that’s not the main reason.”

“Then what is?”

He smiles sadly. “I don’t have any identification. Technically, I’m still dead. And even if I were alive again, I’d have to provide a pretty good explanation of how, and that would lead to a whole list of other problems.”

She props her chin on her hands. “You wouldn’t need a lot of identification. Just one or two pieces that you could use to apply for other things.”

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah, but those first few pieces would have to be faked, and neither of us have any sort of connections that would get us those things without getting us into a heap of trouble.”

“You’re an idiot, Barnes.”

He pauses, feeling offended. “Thanks? You’re an asshole.” He ignores Steve’s ‘Buck!’ from behind him.

She laughs. “I’m serious! Why didn’t you mention this weeks ago? In fact, Rogers, you’re the actual idiot. Why didn’t you call me months ago about this?”

Steve makes a face where he’s stirring something in a pan. “I didn’t wanna create any problems for you.”

“You think me getting Barnes a fake birth certificate is a problem? Idiot, it would be the easiest assignment I’ve had in the last fifteen years.”

Bucky’s staring at her. “Are you serious?”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course! Oh, you silly boys. Of course I’m serious! It would take me less than a week to have it put together. Then you can use that to go get yourself a social security number, or apply for a driver license or a passport, or anything else.”

Steve has pulled the pan off the stove and he’s come to stand at the table. “What if they do a background check?”

She smiles. “Look, if some real higher ups ever start digging, then yes, they’ll figure out really quickly that James didn’t really exist until this year, but along with the birth certificate, I can have just enough little tid-bits entered into the right systems so that most people who will do those checks would be satisfied.”

She shakes her head at their distrustful expressions. “Trust me, when these paper pushers are looking for stuff, they’re more interested when they find stuff that shouldn’t be there. If there’s stuff that’s missing, that’s normal. Databases go hay-wire or aren’t fully updated all the time. Agencies don’t always share stuff, people enter information incorrectly, paper copies go missing or are destroyed before they’re entered into databases—there are a million reasons why information could be missing. Nobody’s going to care.”

Bucky’s barely breathing. He’s accepted it months ago that he would never again have a fully normal life, that he will have to continue living as a ghost where official records are concerned.

“You’re serious, Natasha?”

“Absolutely. Give me a week and I will bring you a new birth certificate.” She pulls out a small notepad and detaches a tiny pen from it. “What birthdate do you want?”

“March 10, 1987,” Steve says immediately.

Bucky smiles.

She scribbles in her notepad. “Alright. Full name?”

He shrugs. “What do you think? I don’t want people connecting the dots.”

She bites her lip, thinking it over. “Listen, enough people know you as James Barnes around here and nobody’s asked weird questions, right? As long as we keep your middle name out of it, you should be fine. People are just going to think it’s a coincidence. James Barnes isn’t that unusual of a name.”

Steve frowns. “Okay, so just James Barnes. He’s okay without a middle name?”

“It’s a bit unusual but nobody will question it. Next question—birth place?”

“Brooklyn,” both Steve and Bucky say at the same time.

She nods. “That would explain the accent. I’ll let my guy pick the hospital since he’ll be entering the info into that hospital’s database.” She scribbles some more, then looks up and smiles, snapping the notepad shut. “Alright, you’ll have it in a week.”

They both stare at her. She grins. “I can’t wait to see your faces when I give it to you. Now, Rogers—” she gestures at the stove. “You promised me lunch and the progress has definitely stalled. Hurry up and get back to it.”

Steve does as he’s told and heads back to the stove. Along the way, he asks her how much it’ll cost.

She waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it, Rogers. This is a free one for two good friends.” She smiles.

Bucky is still staring at her, his mind racing. He has no doubt this will dramatically change his life.

It feels like another huge piece of his life is settling into place.

*             *             *

Bucky settles into the chair, bib clipped around his neck, pomade on his upper lip, breathing deeply and calmly. He leans back, feeling only slightly nervous.

On the other hand, the three other people in the room with him look like they’re about to have heart attacks.

Bucky scowls at all three of them. “Jesus, people. You promised you’d try, remember?”

Steve looks like he can’t decide whether to cry or pass out. Mandeep looks like she’s about to grab the sedative and douse him against his will, and her assistant Sarah looks ready to run out of the room.

“Alright, all three of you, go out into the hallway, calm down and then come back in. Before you go, can somebody please lower the chair?”

Steve reaches over and presses a slightly shaky hand to the button and sends the chair down. Bucky continues taking deep breaths as he’s reclined. He wedges his left arm in the space between the arm of the chair and his body, and his other hand lies on his belly. He looks up at the dark television.

Mandeep and Steve are already out of the room, no doubt pacing around and trying to remember to breathe properly. Sarah is just about to leave.

“Oh, Sarah, can I have the TV remote, please?”

She hands it to him and then hurries out of the room. Bucky turns on the television and finds the house channel. He’s greeted by the sight of the first-time house buyers show host walking down a street and talking to the camera. He knows she’s introducing the house buyers. Moments later, a list of the house buyers demands flashes up on the screen.

Bucky calmly watches the show. The house buyers are touring the first house when Mandeep, Sarah and Steve come back in, looking calmer.

“Alright, people, let’s get this going. We can do it. I know we can. Nice and slow.”

Sarah stands in a corner while Mandeep and Steve put masks and gloves on. They sit on either side of him and Mandeep adjusts the cart and the light above him. Steve gently takes hold of Bucky’s hand on his belly.

“Ready, Buck? Let’s count.”

Bucky counts up and down Steve’s hand a few times. Five up…five down. Five up…five down. Deep breaths.

Mandeep holds up the mirror tool. “Can I take a look?”

Bucky nods and opens his mouth. She leans over him and Bucky’s surprised that the sight of her above him with the bright light and the mask on her face barely causes a reaction. He feels only slightly nervous, but mainly calm.

He glances at Steve, whose eyes are worried above the mask. He gently squeezes Steve’s hand, letting him know he’s okay.

Mandeep puts the mirror tool in his mouth and moves it around, looking at the older implants and the site where the new ones will go.

She removes the mirror and then takes a cotton swab and gently wipes some numbing agent on his gums. Then she takes the needle with the local anesthetic and brings it closer to his face.

He keeps his eyes up on the television, breathing calmly. The host is showing the couple the second house. They don’t look pleased while touring the bathroom.

Mandeep leans closer to him and Bucky feels a slight pinch as she injects the anesthesia into his gums. He finds Steve’s thumb. Five up…five down.

“You’re okay, Buck. You’re doing really well,” Steve murmurs into his ear. Bucky does one more counting set and then squeezes his hand. He feels his mouth slowly numbing.

They wait several minutes, Mandeep poking his gums and lips occasionally and asking him if he can feel anything.

When he’s numb, Steve slides down to Bucky’s hip and Sarah takes a seat across from Mandeep.

They get set up, while Bucky watches the television and feels Steve’s thumb stroking his palm. The suction tool is hooked into his mouth.

The drill is turned on.

The sound causes a twinge of anxiety in his gut, but he’s used to the sound now. He watches the couple on the television peering into one of the bedrooms. It has terrible wallpaper.

The drill comes closer.

Five up…five down. Five up…five down. He’s fine. There won’t be any pain. They won’t hurt him.

Five up…five down. Breathe.

Pomade.

Pomade that Steve bought him.

Steve who is holding his hand and won’t let anybody hurt him.

The drill is put into his mouth. He can’t tell when the drill first touches down but the noise gets louder.

There’s no pain. He’s fine.

Five up…five down.

The drill continues screeching.

Breathe.

He tears his eyes off the television and looks down at Steve, who’s looking back at him. He’s smiling. He looks less worried.

That’s good.

There’s a small tightness in his gut and he’s trembling just a bit. His heart rate is slightly elevated. But he’s fine. He can do this.

Nobody here will hurt him.

The house buyers are leaving the second house. The yard is very nice, but they don’t look pleased.

Five up…five down.

Breathe.

The third house is an apartment instead of a house. The camera focuses on the hardwood floors. The buyers probably like that.

The drill is turned off and pulled out of his mouth. Mandeep holds up some other tools. She explains what they’re for and Bucky makes an affirmative noise, giving her permission to proceed.

More work is done. He doesn’t feel a thing.

There’s no pain.

He’s fine.

The drill comes back after a while. His heart rate picks up again and he counts a few times. He looks down and recognizes Steve’s smile behind the mask. He can see Steve’s lips moving. He’s saying something that Bucky can’t hear over the noise of the drill, but he can guess.

Steve’s proud of him. Steve won’t let anybody hurt him. Steve loves him.

Bucky’s fine.

Breathe.

The buyers are leaving the apartment. Time for them to make a choice.

The drill is turned off again and more things happen. Bucky realizes he’s less and less concerned with what Mandeep and Sarah are doing. He trusts that they’re doing what they need to be doing. They don’t mean him any harm.

The house buyers settle for the apartment. The host looks surprised. So is Bucky. The second house was nicer.

The home inspection show starts. Bucky actually finds himself paying more attention to the home renovations than what’s going on around him.

Before he knows it, Mandeep and Sarah are sliding back from him and the tools are turned off.

“Alright, we’re done, James,” Mandeep says. She pulls of her mask and Sarah raises his chair and unclips his bib.

Bucky blinks at them. “Seriously?” he asks, his words slightly slurred from his numb mouth.

She’s smiling, looking so proud that Bucky feels a warm glow in his belly. “Yes. We’re done for the month. Another set of implants are in.”

“I—I did it?” he asks. He knows he did, but the truth hasn’t sunk in yet.

Sarah’s laughing. “Yes! You did it. You did so great!”

Mandeep gently touches his cheek with her gloved hand. “I’m very proud of you, James. You’ve come very far. Very far!” Her eyes slide down to Steve, who’s still on his stool and holding Bucky’s hand. “Now, we will leave you two alone. We don’t open for twenty minutes so you have lots of time. Please come to the front when you’re ready.”

Mandeep and Sarah leave the cubicle.

Bucky shifts in the chair and reaches for Steve’s face, who’s slightly turned away from him.

“Stevie? You okay?”

When he turns Steve’s face he sees that Steve’s crying. Bucky pulls the mask off his face and struggles to shift closer to him, concerned.

“What’s wrong? You okay? What happened?”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s—it’s—Buck, I’m so proud of you. I feel like I say it all the time and it’s true all the time, but I feel like there should be something else that I can say because it doesn’t sound good enough. I’m—” he takes a shaky breath. “You did it, Buck. I’m so proud, so, so, so proud of you.”

Bucky reaches for him and pulls Steve into his arms. Steve tightly wraps his arms around him and buries his face into his shoulder.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers, his voice muffled in Bucky’s shoulder.

“We did it, Stevie. Both of us. We worked hard and we had wonderful people who helped us and we succeeded,” he slurs into Steve’s ear, gently rubbing his back. “I’m only amazing because you help me be amazing.”

Bucky rocks them back and forth, letting Steve calm down. He knows part of Steve’s reaction is probably from the strain of keeping up a strong front for Bucky’s sake through the entire morning.

He presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek, which ends up being nothing more than a mush of numb lips against Steve’s face that Bucky can’t feel, but he doesn’t think Steve cares about the quality. “I couldn’t have done this without you, not in a million years. We both did such a great job.”

“Do we—do we have to leave?”

“Hush, sweetheart. Don’t worry about it. We have fifteen minutes until we have to leave.”

Bucky reaches over and pushes the button to lower his chair back down. He scoots back on the chair and lies down, pulling Steve with him. It’s not overly comfortable, but Bucky enjoys the irony.

*             *             *

When Bucky pulls open the door, instead of seeing Natasha’s face, he sees a piece of paper. He takes a step back and she pushes into the apartment, the paper leading the way.

“Here you go, Mr. James Barnes,” she says, shoving the paper at him until he takes it.

He takes it and stares down at it. He sees the words ‘The City of New York’ and ‘Certification of Birth’ across the top. He sees ‘James Barnes’, ‘Brooklyn’ and his new birthdate: March 10, 1987. There’s other information, but none of it is really registering.

He blinks a few times and looks up at her. Steve has appeared behind him and he pulls the paper out of his limp grasp. He stares at it, eyes wide.

“Oh, my God, Nat. It looks incredible.”

She’s smiling. “My guy’s good. Nobody will ever know it’s fake unless they figure out that James wasn’t actually born in 1987. I made up new names for your parents, I hope you don’t mind. We can’t use your actual parents’ names.”

Steve hands the paper back to Bucky, who goes back to staring at it. He knows he should be feeling something, but it doesn’t seem real or important. Like the paper is something Steve had doodled in his sketchpad for fun.

Natasha goes to the table and drops a bag on it. She starts rummaging around in it.

“Alright, boys, come here and look at the other goodies I brought.”

She starts pulling out bundles of paper and putting them on the table. “I have two other copies of the birth certificate in case you lose that one. If you lose all copies, my guy has to start from scratch and he hates doing that, so try to take care of all the copies, okay? He also made you your high school transcript.”

She waves some papers towards him. Steve starts towards the table, but when he sees that Bucky isn’t following, he grabs his sleeve and pulls him along. Bucky’s still staring at the birth certificate.

James Barnes. Brooklyn. March 10, 1987.

“He picked the high school—if you have objections, let me know and we can change it. We gave you pretty average grades, nothing that would have made you stand out. We also have your GED certificate. I figured it’s only fair, since you did actually complete high school, right?”

Bucky opens his mouth to correct her—because no, he didn’t—but Steve lightly hip-checks him into silence. “Yeah, he did,” he lies.

“The certificate and the transcript will let you attend college or university if you ever want. You might need the GED certificate when you’re applying for certain jobs. Now, the important thing is, officially, you’re not a veteran.”

Steve straightens and opens his mouth to complain. Natasha shakes her head.

“No, Rogers, it’s not negotiable. It’ll be pretty easy for James to float by if he’s just a normal guy. But if we give him a military background, there are a ton of other databases he needs to be entered in. Not to mention, the more stuff we make up, the higher the chance that somebody will pop up who he should know and then it’ll all go bad very quickly. I know in an ideal world, he’d get the same things that you’re getting, but this isn’t an ideal world. Being a normal, average person is what James will need to be if he’s going to stay under the radar and live a normal life.”

That stops any of Steve’s protests. “Okay, I get it. Thanks, Nat.”

She’s sorting out the papers. “I also made up a sample resume that James can use.” She waves it towards them. “No matter what, people are going to want to know what he’s been doing for the last ten years since he graduated from high school. I can cut that time in half. I put on here that he worked for me as my assistant for my private security consultation business for five years in New York. He quit and that’s the last I heard from him. You two make up the story of how he ended up in Washington and what he’s been doing for the last five years. I’m doing this because if he applies for a job, he’s going to need an employment history and a reference. I can be both of those things.”

Steve’s over by the table and he’s frowning down at the resume. “What if somebody finds out he didn’t pay taxes during those five years?”

She smiles. “I’m not doing all your work for you, Rogers. If that happens, call me and I’ll be happy to provide documentation that showed I hired him as a private contractor and paid him in cash. The fact that he didn’t pay his taxes isn’t my business. You’ll get to cover the tab.”

He laughs. “Jesus Christ, Nat. You’re terrible.”

“I think I’m hilarious. But don’t worry, unless he’s audited, chances are nobody’s going to care. As long as he keeps his income average—not too high and not too low—and doesn’t attract any attention, he’ll float by like millions of other normal people do.”

She nods at the resume. “But like I said, if you don’t like that, then don’t use it. You have to make up a good story of what’s he’s been doing for the last ten years, and I’m telling you, without any employment history in the last ten years, people are going to assume he’s trouble and won’t hire him.”

Steve and Natasha talk some more but Bucky doesn’t pay attention.

He slowly goes to the table, puts down the birth certificate and then walks up to Natasha and pulls her into a tight hug.

She trails off in the middle of a sentence and is obviously surprised, but Bucky doesn’t care.

“Thank you, Natasha,” he says into her shoulder.

She gently hugs him back. “You’re welcome, James. I hope these things will help.”

Bucky releases her. “I—I don’t really know what else to say other than thank you.”

“Can I use this to get me lots of plus points in your ‘good people’ column?”

He smiles. “Oh, you’re pretty much at the top of the list now.”

“Higher than Rogers?”

He chuckles. “You’re coming pretty close.”

“Hey, Rogers, you hear that? You got competition.”

Steve laughs but he’s looking at Bucky. Bucky knows Steve can tell that he’s feeling a bit weird.

Steve turns around and starts heaping raspberry scones into a container for Natasha to take with her. They’re the least they can do, he tells her.

She happily accepts them, along with the container of leftovers Bucky pulls out of the fridge for her.

“Just return the containers whenever you have a chance,” Steve says.

She rolls her eyes. “You’re such a house-husband these days, it’s almost painful. It keeps me well fed, so I’m not going to complain too much, but it still takes me by surprise.”

They say their goodbyes and Steve walks her to the door.

Bucky stays by the table, staring down at the birth certificate, hands clutching the back of a chair.

James Barnes. Brooklyn. March 10, 1987.

Steve returns from shutting the door and comes to stand beside him. “You alright, Buck? Nat knows what she’s doing. If she says the documents will pass then they will.”

Bucky shakes his head. “No, it’s not that.”

Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s chest. “Then what is it? Your mouth hurt?”

Bucky points at the birth certificate. “It’s—it’s like I suddenly exist again.”

Steve’s quiet, looking down at the paper on the table. “It’s just a paper, buddy. You’ve always existed.”

He shakes his head. “No, I mean, I accepted the fact that I’d have to be a ghost from now on. Hydra had turned me into a ghost and there was no coming back from that. I didn’t exist as far as the world’s concerned. I wasn’t in any database, I wasn’t gonna be on anybody’s list—good or bad—and I know a lot of people would love to live like that, but I don’t.”

Steve squeezes him. “I think it’s because you never signed up for any of that, Buck. You had a normal life in Brooklyn and you were just gonna go serve your country and once the war was done, you were gonna go back to that normal life. You became a ghost against your will.”

Bucky lightly brushes a finger over the certificate on the table. “I’m not a ghost anymore,” he says, his voice rough.

Steve gently turns him around and brushes a kiss over his temple, then rests their foreheads together. “Welcome back to the world,” he whispers, smiling.

Bucky wraps his arms around Steve, pulling him close. He buries his face into his shoulder, feeling utterly overwhelmed.

Steve just holds him, rubbing his back and rocking them back and forth. “Welcome back to the world, Buck.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! This chapter checks off a lot of items on Bucky's 'Rejoining-Society' checklist but there isn't too much action, so I'm giving you two chapters this week. Enjoy!

The next day, Steve sits him down at the table, hands him a piece of paper and a pen and tells him he needs to practice his signature. Bucky hasn’t signed his name in over seventy years and he’s going to have to sign a bunch of things now that he’s back to being a contributing member of society. Bucky makes the same nonsensical scribbles he had made on the forms Mandeep had asked him to sign, but Steve isn’t happy with that.

“This is serious, Buck. These days, a signature is really important. You’re gonna need to sign a lot of things and your signature can’t be changing all the time or people will get suspicious.”

So Steve makes him some options and Bucky spends some time copying them until he settles on one he likes. Steve makes him practice it over and over while he prepares breakfast.

When they’re done eating and Steve has declared Bucky’s signature adequate, Steve wastes no time dragging them both to the bank, two of the birth certificates going with them.

He goes right up to the bank teller and tells him he wants to add somebody to his account. They’re told they have to wait a few minutes for one of the other staff members to help them, so they have a seat.

Bucky is going over every possible scenario in his head, most of them ending with Steve and him being arrested for using falsified documents and then Bucky having to smash some heads together to get them out of there. He’s already thinking about which border crossing to use to get to Canada, when a bank associate approaches them, introduces himself and leads them to his office.

Steve gets right to the point, explaining that he wants to add Bucky to his account. Also, he wants to get a safety deposit box where he can store a copy of Bucky’s birth certificate.

The bank employee carefully looks over Bucky’s birth certificate and also Steve’s driver license. Satisfied, he has them sign a bunch of papers. Bucky’s hoping he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels when he uses his brand new signature for the first time.

Then they go into a back room with lots of little lockers and the man pulls out a long metal box from one of the lockers and Steve carefully places one of the birth certificates inside.

Bucky’s not too clear on exactly what had taken place at the bank until a few days later when he gets a letter from the bank. To his surprise, it’s actually addressed to him.

And isn’t that just mind-boggling—the first piece of mail that has _his name_ on it. All of their mail either has his name hand-written on it—sent by Sam or Natasha—or has Steve’s name on it. Everything official always has Steve’s name on it.

He now has _official mail_. Official mail sent by official people who know he exists.

He tears it open and finds a debit card.

He stares at it and then stares at Steve.

Steve’s grinning at him from the table. “Is that the debit card?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Welcome to having a bank account, Buck. Well, technically, I should say welcome back to having a bank account. Do you remember your old bank account?”

He shakes his head.

“You had to have one when you joined up so they could deposit your pay. We didn’t get any fancy cards, but we didn’t need them. You marched me to the bank as soon as you got your paperwork and had them add me to the account so I could access the money while you were gone.”

“I did?”

Steve smiles softly. “Yeah. I did the best I could do to make enough money and you’d left me every penny you had, but that wasn’t enough sometimes. Your pay cheques—and me being able to access your account—saved me from being evicted a bunch of times. I figure, it’s high time I pay back that favor.”

Bucky’s staring at the card. “Rogers, are you sure?”

He snorts. “Buck, you’ve been living out of my account for almost a year. This just makes it official and doesn’t bring about a heap of trouble. We don’t have to worry about me running to the bank machine to get you cash anymore, you can do it yourself.”

Bucky takes out his wallet. His only cards in there are his metro card and Mandeep and Jemisha’s business cards. No official cards from official people. The empty slots had always kind of depressed him. He carefully slides the debit card into the slot at the very front. His wallet looks a thousand times better.

He turns the wallet and shows Steve, who grins. “It’s looking great, Buck!”

“It’s a beautiful work in progress.”

“Just like its owner.” Steve wiggles his eyebrows at him. “Hey, does your beautiful work in progress self feel like making time with me?”

Bucky laughs and tosses his wallet towards the couch. “It sure does, Rogers.”

*             *             *

The next month is full of progress. Mandeep declares the first set of implants have healed sufficiently and puts the permanent caps on them. It’s only a total of four teeth and doesn’t make much of a difference in terms of his eating ability, but Bucky is thrilled. They also make it through another implantation surgery without sedation.

Steve takes him back to the bank and has Bucky apply for his own credit card. Bucky doesn’t see why he needs a debit card and a credit card, but Steve insists. Bucky needs to create as much paper history for himself as possible. The bank employee blinks a few times when he pulls Bucky’s credit report and finds absolutely nothing on it. Steve smoothly steps in and tells the man he’ll be Bucky’s co-signer so that’s not a problem.

So a week later, another shiny card appears in the mail and this time it actually has Bucky’s name on it.

He’s so excited that after he shows Steve, he heads next door to show Alina.

Steve also drags him to a stuffy office and has Bucky officially added to the lease of their apartment. Bucky protests—it isn’t like he’s paying any of the apartment bills, but Steve insists.

Then Bucky catches Steve sitting at the table one morning, a bunch of papers surrounding him, and his phone against his ear. After a bit of eavesdropping, Bucky realizes Steve is adding Bucky to all of their utility bills so Bucky can deal with the accounts when Steve isn’t around.

In general, adding Bucky to everything serves the highly important purpose of creating more paper trails for him, but Steve explains that he also wants to make sure Bucky is taken care of if something were to ever happen to Steve.

The next step that Bucky wants to conquer is getting a driver license. He enjoys taking the bus, but he doesn’t like always having to depend on others around him for rides when the bus isn’t the best option.

Steve tells him that SHIELD had helped him get his license when he had come out of the ice and they fast-tracked some of it and Natasha probably knew how to do that, but Bucky declines. So many people have already helped him. This is something he can do on his own, and he wants to try.

He goes on the web and quickly discovers that it’s not as easy as he thought. He’s pleased to discover that Steve’s foresight with the bank, utility companies and the apartment lease will help—they’re all documents that he’ll need to use to get a license—but there’s a big stumbling block.

“I need to get a social security number,” he tells Steve, who’s sitting on the couch beside him, eating a bowl of fruit and occasionally feeding Bucky a few tiny pieces. Without missing a beat, Bucky changes websites and starts reading about getting a social security number.

When he reads up on the requirements, he quickly deflates.

“What?” Steve sees his crestfallen expression and leans over Bucky to see.

“To get a license, I need a social. To get a social, I need a license.”

Steve burst out laughing. “This is what happens when you agree to live a normal life, Buck. Nat would die laughing.”

He doesn’t laugh. “This isn’t funny. The only other option is a passport, which I also don’t have.”

“What about the birth certificate?”

“That counts as one piece of ID. I need another piece that shows all the stuff they want—name, birthdate, whatever. I don’t have any of the stuff they want. I think a passport is the only one I can apply for. The other ID options don’t apply to me.”

Steve shrugs. “You can get a passport. If we ever decide to go on vacation, you’d need one anyway.”

“Do you have one?”

“Yeah. SHIELD gave it to me.”

Bucky sighs. Then he starts the search on how to apply for a passport. He reads through the info and skips to the section describing the types of identification he needs.

“Jesus Christ!” he bursts out, slamming the laptop lid shut.

Steve startles, nearly falls off the couch and drops his fork. He bends over to retrieve it from the floor. “What?”

“To get a passport, I need a God damn driver license!”

Steve presses his lips together. Bucky glares at him. “I know you want to laugh your ass off, Rogers, but this isn’t funny. I want to do things the right way. Stupid paper pushers aren’t letting me.”

Steve takes a deep breath and turns away from Bucky for a few minutes. Bucky can see his shoulders shaking. Then he turns back around and gestures for the computer.

“Let me see. I can’t believe that they don’t have other options.” He opens the lid and starts reading.

Within a few minutes, he’s tapping the screen. “There, Buck. If you don’t have the right primary ID, you need to bring as much secondary ID with you as you can—and you’ve got your debit card, the credit card, the apartment lease, your birth certificate—and you need an identifying witness who can vouch for your identity. If that ain’t me, I don’t know who is.”

Bucky leans against Steve’s shoulder, reading.

“My birth certificate is used for another category. You can’t use it for both.”

“That’s fine. I think with all the other things you’ve got now, we should be able to move forward with it.”

Bucky makes a face. “It’ll take six weeks to get the passport.”

“So? Are you in a hurry or something?” Steve’s smiling, his voice teasing.

Bucky smacks him on the leg. “Quit it, Rogers. I thought this would go quicker. So I have to do this passport thing, wait six weeks for it, then apply for a social, wait to get that, then I can get a driver license.” It doesn’t sound as fun as it had when he had first sat down.

“Hey, Barnes,” Steve says, putting the computer aside. He twists on the couch so he’s facing Bucky. “Don’t get discouraged. We’ve got the next fifty years to get this done. Like with your teeth, let’s take it one day at a time. Let’s start by filling out the passport application, okay?”

Bucky gives him a look. “We don’t have a printer.”

Steve pauses. “We don’t?”

Bucky snorts. “Where do you think it’s been hiding if we did have one, knucklehead?”

Steve looks flabbergasted and peers around the living room as if the printer has been secretly living underneath the rocking chair. “Seriously? I always assumed I had one. I just never needed it.”

They’re both quiet. Then: “Buck, you wanna go get a printer?”

“Absolutely. If we hurry, we can catch the bus that’s coming in four minutes.”

“Four minutes?!”

Bucky hops to his feet and drags Steve up with him. “Hurry up, Rogers! Move, move, move!”

They race into their bedrooms to kick off their Hulk slippers, throw on jeans, hop around as they get into their shoes, pull on their jackets and stumble out the door at the same time.

Bucky’s locking the door after shoving Steve out of it. Steve’s jogging down the hallway, patting his pockets. “Jesus, Barnes, I don’t have my wallet!”

Bucky runs past him, snagging his jacket sleeve and pulling Steve along. “Good thing I’ve got a credit card now, huh?”

Steve’s laughing so hard he nearly falls down the stairs.

They make it to the bus with twenty seconds to spare.

*             *             *

Bucky wakes when he feels someone kissing his neck. He cracks open an eye and sees the top of Steve’s head.

“Morning,” Steve mumbles into his neck.

Bucky smiles and stretches. “Good morning, Chef Rogers. How’s my Chopped Champion doing this fine morning?”

Steve grins. “I think I’ve recovered from my food coma.”

“Yeah? So have I.”

Steve’s grin grows. “That’s good. I was hoping to collect on my prize.”

Bucky laughs and wraps his legs around Steve and pulls him down so he’s sprawled over Bucky. Steve braces himself and starts rolling them over, not wanting to stay on top, but Bucky tightens his grip around his hips with his legs and keeps him where he is. He’s okay. For now.

Bucky runs his hand up Steve’s bracing arms and down his back, squeezing his ass. “What prize were you thinking about?”

“You’re the host, you decide.”

Bucky presses up and rubs himself against Steve. Steve’s already half hard. Punk has probably been thinking about his prize since last night. Bucky’s right hand dips under the back of Steve’s waistband and slides down his crack and rubs over his hole.

Steve groans and starts rocking—forward against Bucky’s cock and backwards against the rough pressure from Bucky’s finger.

“That what you want? You want me to fuck you?”

Steve moans low in his throat and drops his head to Bucky’s chest, thrusting harder. Bucky’s cock is rapidly filling, having no trouble catching up. Steve mumbles something.

“You wanna say that again, champ?”

“I said _yes_. Yes to the fucking.”

Bucky smirks and presses Steve down harder and grinds them together, then gives Steve’s ass a smack and gently dumps him off.

“Shorts off,” he says. Steve kicks off his shorts and shirt and lies back, staring at Bucky, who’s pulling the bottle of slick out of the bedside table and pulling off his sleep wear. He snags a hair elastic from the table.

“Hurry up, Buck.”

“Christ, Rogers, have a little bit of patience. I woke up about five seconds ago.” He shuffles back to Steve and wiggles the hair elastic in his face.

Steve sits up long enough to grab Bucky’s hair and put it up in a bun. It’s pretty much the messiest bun Steve’s ever created, but Bucky’s willing to forgive him. After all, he’s pretty distracted.

Bucky pulls his legs over his shoulders while Steve falls back to the bed, smirking up at him. “Look at all this preparation you need, old man. You must be getting ol—”

Bucky cuts off his words when he leans down and kisses him, nearly folding Steve in half. He deepens the kiss and thrust his tongue into Steve’s mouth. When he’s sure Steve is distracted enough, he pulls back and slicks up his right hand.

Steve is grinning up at him and Bucky rubs his slick fingers down his crack and pushes two fingers in. Steve groans, eyes sliding closed. Steve’s nice and loose so Bucky doesn’t tease. He stretches him a bit and then pulls his fingers out and drives his cock in with deep thrusts.

When his balls are brushing Steve’s ass, he leans down and kisses him again. “Now who were you calling old, punk?”

Steve opens his mouth and Bucky takes the opportunity to pull back, re-adjust and slam back in, hitting Steve’s prostate. Whatever Steve was going to say is lost in a litany of curses, pleas and Bucky’s name.

Grinning to himself, Bucky settles into a hard rhythm, his world narrowing to the feel of Steve’s ass around his cock and the delicious sounds coming from Steve’s mouth.

*             *             *

Achilles, the pit bull terrier whines softly and head butts the door as they all wait for Ed to open it.

Bucky lightly tugs on Achilles’ leash to get his attention. “Calm down, buddy. He’s coming.”

By contrast, Tobi the husky is sitting politely by his side, waiting for the door to be opened.

Finally the door opens and a smiling Ed greets them. “Hello everybody! Hello, James, please come in, come in.”

He pulls the door open and both dogs attempt to be the first one in. Bucky follows along and pushes the door closed behind them. He helps Ed remove the dogs’ collars and leashes and hangs everything up by the door.

“Thank you so much, James. How’s it going?”

“Great, Ed. Thanks. How are you?”

“Oh, fine, fine. How’s Steve? Did he just start a new art class? I passed him in the hall, speaking with Alina.”

“Yes, he did.”

“Still at the Smithsonian?”

“Yes. This one’s about painting.”

Ed nods and asks some more questions as he rummages through his wallet. He hands Bucky the usual ten dollar bill and then sees him to the door.

*             *             *

“Hey, Buck!”

“Yeah?” He doesn’t look up from the television. The Nationals have just tied the score and they still have one batter left to go. It’s not the time to be looking away from the television.

Steve’s standing at the door and waving a large envelope towards him. “It’s something from the government for a Mr. James Barnes.”

That’s a different story. Baseball definitely takes a backseat to envelopes from the government. Bucky pauses the television and hurries over. “Open it!”

Steve rips it open and pulls out a beautiful, brand new passport. He flips it open and they both lean over to stare at it.

There’s Bucky’s photo and his name and birthdate.

“Oh, my God, Stevie, look! It’s so pretty!”

Steve pulls Bucky into his side and gives him a squeeze. “It looks great, Buck!”

They stare at it for another few minutes, until Bucky takes it from Steve’s hand and heads towards the table.

“Next step: social security number. Wanna help me fill out the application?”

“Absolutely.”

*             *             *

Bucky hisses in pain as Steve digs into his shoulders, rubbing the muscle relaxant into the deep tissue.

“You alright?”

“It’s fine,” Bucky mutters into the pillow. “Keep going.”

Steve adjusts himself where he’s straddling Bucky’s waist and keeps working on his shoulders, neck and back. The pain in his back is relatively new. He’d only started experiencing pain that low a few weeks ago.

Steve makes his way down his back and then pauses. “Buck, I don’t like how the pain’s gone down your back.”

“Huh?”

“It’s never gone down this far. I’m—”

Bucky makes a dismissive hand gesture. “Just put the heating pad back on it.”

“That’s not gonna—”

“Christ, Rogers, I’m in pain and I don’t wanna talk for an hour. Just put the heating pad on it!”

Steve puts the heating pad on and then pulls part of Bucky’s blanket on top to trap the heat. Steve slides off him and plays on his phone for ten minutes. Then he pulls the blanket and heating pad off and climbs back over Bucky to rub more muscle relaxant in.

Steve continues until Bucky’s fallen asleep. He pulls the blanket over him and quietly leaves the room.

He goes to start dinner and doesn’t say anything when Bucky appears a few hours later to eat. Steve eats slowly, keeping pace with Bucky as he takes time to cut everything into tiny pieces. He’s got about half of his new teeth in, but eating is still problematic.

Once they’re done eating, Steve tries again.

“Buck, I’m worried about your back. The pain is spreading and it’s getting more frequent.”

Bucky shrugs. “It’s from the dog walking. It’s fine.”

“I don’t care what’s causing it, I’m worried that you’re in pain.”

Bucky sighs. “There’s nothing we can do about it, Rogers, so quit nagging me about it.”

*             *             *

Steve brings it up when he’s on a coffee date with Natasha a few weeks later.

“You think it’s because of the arm?”

“I know it is. The stupid thing’s so damn heavy. I have no idea how it’s attached, but it’s making things worse.”

She twirls her straw around in her frappuccino. “He’s had the arm for a long time. You think Hydra helped him deal with the pain somehow?”

“Buck doesn’t like talking about, but I’m guessing the pain never got to this stage when he was with them. They only kept him active for a few days at a time and then put him back into cryo. Now he’s been walking around for nearly two years with no break.”

“You know who could help. I know you do.”

Steve sighs. “He and I have never been the best of friends, Nat. Besides, he’ll know who Buck is the second he sees the arm and you know the history that’s there. He won’t want to help him.”

She takes a sip of her drink. “You don’t know that. I think you’re not giving Tony enough credit. If you explain the situation and let him think it over, he might surprise you. Besides, I think even if he can’t stand James, he won’t give up the opportunity to mess around with a robot arm. Getting to play with weapons is always right up Tony’s alley.”

“Buck won’t want another weapon for an arm, he’d just want a normal arm.”

“Yeah, but you could let Tony keep his current arm. That would be a good selling point.”

Steve presses his lips together. “Should I contact Tony first or should I talk to Buck?”

“What would James say?”

“He’d say no. He won’t want to get his hopes up.”

She shrugs. “Then don’t talk to him about it first. Talk to Tony and see what he says. If Tony says no, then we’ll see if we can find other options. If we don’t find any other options, it’ll be good that we didn’t tell James. It would be stupid to get his hopes up.”

Steve nods. “Alright. I’ll call Tony.”

“Good. Now, get going. I thought you have a dentist appointment at three today?”

Steve checks the time on his phone. “Shit, thanks for reminding me.”

“You still have five minutes. Go get me another frap and then you can go.”

Steve laughs. “Is that the going rate for getting Romanov advice these days?”

“It’s the special friend discount. Other people would have to supply me with pastries too.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shout-out to all the people who guessed many chapters ago that Tony would be making an appearance to help Bucky with his arm. Congrats to you all! Unfortunately the whole thing doesn't go as smoothly as Steve hoped...
> 
> NOTE: In this version, Bucky killed Tony's parents by shooting them when they were in the car. If I would have followed the CW-canon version where Bucky beat them to death with the metal arm, I don't think Tony would ever be willing to touch the arm and that would make for a very different story. Please forgive my deliberate disregard for canon.

Steve takes a deep breath and presses Tony’s private contact button his phone. Bucky’s picking up groceries with Alina so Steve has some time.

It rings.

“Capsicle! Is it really you or did somebody steal your phone?”

Steve smiles. “Hi Tony. Thanks for picking up.”

“What have you been up to?”

“I think you know what I’ve been up to.”

Tony laughs. “Actually, SHIELD lost interest in you a few months ago. They finally stopped bugging me for information about you when it became obvious that you’re serious about this whole house-husband act that you’re doing.”

Steve doesn’t want to talk about SHIELD. “Tony, I’m calling because I need your expertise.”

“My expertise? Do you want a house cleaning robot? I can make you one. In fact, if you don’t mind one with some minor glitches, I have several prototypes I can send over right now.”

“No, it’s something else. But thanks. Uh, I have a friend who has a prosthetic arm. It’s an unusual prosthetic—”

“What does unusual mean?”

“It’s—it’s designed more for combat than daily life, I guess. It’s way too heavy and cumbersome for him. It’s giving him severe back and neck problems.”

“You’re hoping I can make modifications?”

“Actually, I’m hoping that you can remove it entirely and give him a more appropriate arm. I’d pay you, obviously. You can put together an estimate of what you think it’ll cost, but I’m pretty desperate so I don’t really care what it’ll end up costing.”

Tony makes a few affirmative noises as Steve speaks, his mind probably miles ahead already with plans.

“Okay, first of all, let’s leave cost out of for now. If something big comes up, then I might charge you, but consider this a freebie.”

Steve chuckles. “The second I told you the arm is weaponized you were in, right?”

“Pretty much. Are you going to want to keep this arm once I remove it?”

Steve smiles. “No. That was going to be my other bargaining chip. You can keep it and do whatever you want with it.”

“Alright. When can you be here?”

That makes Steve stop. “What?”

“Cappy, I can’t do this surgery in your kitchen. Your friend needs to come here to New York and I need to do a gazillion scans and then create a prototype.”

“Uh,” Steve honestly forgot about the whole New York angle. It makes sense that they’d have to go to Tony’s lab, but he never thought that far. Jesus.

“You also said he’s had severe problems with his neck and back from the weight, correct?”

“Yes…”

“Then I’ll need to bring in a specialist to consult. Your friend may require surgery if the damage is extensive. Giving him a new arm may not stop the pain if he did permanent damage to himself.”

Steve sighs. Bucky isn’t going to like this. At all.

“Tony, there are other things. Uh, my friend doesn’t like being in strange places and he doesn’t do well with medical procedures in general. I want to make this as easy for him as possible. The other part is that my friend wants to stay under the radar. He _needs_ to stay under the radar.”

“Was he special forces or something?”

“Uh, or something.”

Tony makes a dismissive sound. “Fine. Listen. This Saturday, I’ll tell Pepper we’re flying to Washington for a little mini-vacation. I’ll bring what I need with me, including a specialist. We’ll meet up wherever you want on Saturday afternoon and all you need to do is bring your friend. We’ll do the scans, consultation and discuss everything. Once I get back to New York, I’ll work on the arm and let you know when your friend needs to come here for the actual procedure.”

Steve blinks. “This…Saturday? As in—”

“As in, today is Thursday and I’m coming on Saturday. Yes. I’m a busy man, Capsicle and if you want me to come to you as opposed to you coming to me, you’ll have to work with my schedule.”

“Okay. Okay. We’ll do that.”

“Text me the address of where you want us to meet up. You do know how to text by now, right? If you don’t, I don’t care, go outside and ask somebody to teach you.”

“Okay.” Jesus Christ. _Saturday_. “Okay. Oh, and Tony?”

“Yes, Rogers?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Address. Texting. Now.” And then he hangs up.

*             *             *

It’s only after he hangs up the phone that Steve realizes he didn’t tell Tony exactly who the prosthetic arm is attached to.

He considers calling him back, but then he pauses. What if Tony says no? He probably will. He has every right to say no. But he’s the best chance Bucky has to get a decent arm replacement.

If Tony is already here in Washington and meets Bucky face to face, maybe Steve will have a better chance at convincing him.

Steve knows it’s underhanded of him, but where Bucky’s wellbeing is concerned, he’s never cared much about the rules or basic niceties. It’s not such a big deal.

Sure.

Not such a big deal.

But he does have to tell Bucky. Agreeing to medical procedures is still a huge deal for him so Steve doesn’t want to surprise him with it. Not only would Bucky hate him, he’d also refuse to have anything to do with the process. Then he’ll be stuck with the stupid arm and Steve will be sleeping on Sam’s couch for the next few years.

His phone buzzes with a text. _Come down and help with the bags._

Steve gets up, pulls his shoes on and heads down to the garage where Bucky is pulling grocery bags out of the trunk. Bucky is mid-conversation with Alina but he pauses to smack a kiss on Steve’s cheek and hand him an armful of groceries. “Thank you, darling.”

“It’s what I live for,” Steve says, adjusting the bags in his grip and starting for the stairs.

Alina is pulling her purse over her shoulder and she comes around to the trunk but Bucky waves her towards the stairs. “I’ve got the rest of these, don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure, James?”

“Absolutely. I gave most of them to Steve anyway.”

She laughs. “Husband abuse, James! He will divorce you.”

Bucky laughs as he slams the trunk shut and they head towards the stairs. “I make it worth his while, don’t worry. There’s no divorce on the horizon.”

“As far as you know,” Steve calls over where he’s got his foot in the stairwell door, waiting for them.

“You’re hilarious, Rogers.”

They head upstairs and help bring Alina’s groceries to her place and then put away their own.

Steve waits until Bucky’s collapsed on the couch, making a face and rotating his shoulders with a groan.

“Buck, can I talk to you?”

“You’ve been talking to me, pal.”

“No, I mean, about something serious.”

Bucky looks up, concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Me? I’m fine. I want to talk to you about your arm.”

Bucky immediately looks annoyed. “Rogers, just leave it. Christ! There’s nothing we can do about it. What do you want me to do? Not lift anything anymore? I’m not a damn cripple.”

Steve comes closer and perches on the arm of the couch. “That’s the thing. I found somebody who can give you a new arm.”

Bucky gives him an unimpressed look. “That’s not funny, Rogers. Why would you think that’s funny?”

“I’m not kidding. God, I wouldn’t joke about this! I’m serious. I found somebody who knows what he’s doing and he can remove this arm and give you another one.”

Bucky’s quiet. He gives Steve a long look. “You’re serious? You’re _completely_ serious?”

“Yes.”

“How much is it gonna cost?”

“Don’t worry about that. The important thing is that he can give you a new arm.”

Bucky’s chewing on his lower lip. He’s got enough teeth to do that these days. “What’s involved?”

“There’s a lot. If you’re up for it, he’s coming this Saturday—”

“ _This_ Saturday?!”

“Yeah. He’s a really busy guy and if he doesn’t come here, then we have to go to him—he’s in New York—and I thought it would be easier if he comes here first. We’ll have to go to him for the actual procedure, but he’s willing to save us one of the trips.”

“So we have to go to New York?”

“Eventually yes. But don’t worry about that for now. He’s also bringing a specialist with him this Saturday. They’ll need to do scans and things. He’s worried that there might be permanent damage and you’ll have to get that fixed first.”

Bucky visibly pales a bit. “So I’d have to do surgery twice? Once to fix stuff, and then to switch the arm?”

“Yeah. You can be fully sedated both times so you’ll just sleep through the whole thing. I’ll be there every step of the way. You won’t feel a thing.”

Bucky huffs. “It’s too damn bad Mandeep can’t do those surgeries. I’m fine with her doing stuff.”

“I know. And I know you don’t like the idea of the sedation, but this will be one-time things. Hopefully with the new arm you won’t have the same problems. Just imagine, Buck—once it’s done, you have the next fifty years of having a good arm. No more pain.”

Bucky leans forward and rubs his right hand over his face. “Jesus, Rogers. This—this is a lot.”

“I know. I’m really sorry for going behind your back but I thought Tony might say no and I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“Tony’s the guy’s name?”

And here’s the other part of it. “Yes. Tony Stark.”

Bucky clenches his jaw. “Stark, huh? That’s ironic. Never thought I’d hear that name again. Ironic that he lives in New York too, huh?”

“It’s not…completely ironic, Buck. He’s—he’s Howard Stark’s son.”

Bucky stares at him and pales completely, eyes widening from shock. “Howard Stark’s _son_? They had a son?”

“Yes. Tony Stark.”

“Are you—what—Steve, I can’t—Christ!” He reaches up and clenches his hand in his hair, tugging harshly. “Steve, you don’t know. You don’t know what—”

“Yeah, I do,” Steve says, softly. His heart is aching. “I do, Buck. I’ve known for a while.”

“Then how—how the _hell_ did you ever think it was appropriate for you to ask the guy for help?”

“He’s the only—”

“I _murdered_ his parents, Rogers!”

Steve stands up. “No. Hydra murdered his parents. You were just the weapon they used to do it. You had no choice.”

Bucky’s rocking back and forth slowly. “Does he know?”

“Not really. He knows the Winter Soldier killed his parents but he doesn’t know you were the Soldier and he doesn’t know you’re the one he’s coming to see.”

Bucky stares at Steve. “And you thought you’d just spring it on him after he comes out here on his own time to help me? What the hell, Rogers?!”

Steve presses his lips together. “It was a jerk move on my part, yes. But you’re in pain and Tony’s the only one I trust to help you with this.”

Bucky’s shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, Rogers. This is _not_ okay,” he says, then points an accusing finger at Steve. “This is not okay. You’re gonna call him and cancel.”

“No.”

“What do you mean _no_?”

“I—Buck, please. Let me call him back and I’ll be honest with him.”

Bucky glares. “If you’re honest with him, you gotta tell him who I was. You willing to take that risk to fix your mess? It’s easier to just make an excuse and cancel the whole thing.”

“I trust Tony. Besides, if we’re gonna ask him for help, the least we can do is give him our honesty.”

Bucky scoffs and shakes his head. “This is going to turn to shit. Absolute shit. I can’t _believe_ you did this, Rogers!” He pushes himself up and heads to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Steve is left in the silent living room. Damn, he screwed this whole thing up.

Taking a deep breath, he pulls out his phone and dials Tony’s number again.

“Twice in one day, Capsicle? Don’t tell me you’re cancelling. I already told Pepper we’re going.”

“Tony, listen, I wasn’t completely honest with you and I don’t want you coming all the way out here if you don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

“This is sounding very mysterious. I’m intrigued. Is your friend an alien from another dimension? Is that what’s going on? You want to make him a human exoskeleton?”

“Can anybody listen in on this phone call?”

Tony pauses. Then: “I’ll call you back in five minutes. Don’t move.”

He hangs up.

Steve sits there, staring at the dark television while he waits. Four minutes later, his phone rings. The caller ID doesn’t give him any useful information.

“Hello?”

“Alright, Cap. Go ahead, spill your guts. I promise, only our ears are involved in this conversation.”

Steve pauses. He has no idea how to start. He figures he might as well dive right in. “My friend’s name is James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Wh—you mean, _the_ James Buchanan Barnes? Cappy, I know drugs and alcohol don’t really work on you, but has Thor been giving you some of the special sauce?”

Steve sighs. “Yes, _that_ James Buchanan Barnes. The reason he’s still alive is because he’s been kept as Hydra’s prisoner for the last seventy years and they frequently kept him in cryo-freeze. Hydra brainwashed him and turned him into an assassin to do their bidding. They code named him—”

“The Winter Soldier,” Tony breathes.

And here we go. “Yes. He escaped and he’s been living with me ever since.”

“Wait, wait. Your tall, dark and mysterious roommate is the Winter Soldier?!”

“No. My tall, dark and mysterious roommate is James Barnes. So, in conclusion, the arm that Hydra gave him is cumbersome and heavy and is giving him a lot of problems. He’d like to get it changed.”

“I—” Tony’s voice drifts off. Steve can’t recall the man ever being lost for words. “Rogers, this—this is a lot. He—you know what the Winter Soldier did, right? My parents?”

“Yes.”

“Does he remember it?”

“I think so.”

There’s silence. Steve has no idea where this conversation is now going. “Tony, listen. I—I was being selfish and wanted to get Bucky help regardless of what it meant for you. I’m sorry about that. Trust me, Bucky’s just as mad at me as you are. I’m sorry about creating such a mess and I’m sorry for asking you for help. I realize it’s not appropriate. I—”

“He’s mad at you?”

“What? Yes. He said the way I went about this whole thing was inappropriate.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line.

“Capsicle, I’m going to call you back tomorrow. I’ll let you know by tomorrow evening if I’m coming or not.”

For the third time that day, Steve is hung up on. He deserves it.

At least he had become ‘Capsicle’ by the end of the conversation. He hated being ‘Rogers’ in so many conversations today.

He sighs, mentally calls himself an idiot and drops his phone on the coffee table.

He pushes himself up and wanders up to Bucky’s closed door. “I’m sorry, Buck. I really am. I wasn’t thinking.” He knows Bucky had heard his side of the phone conversation. “Mostly I’m sorry for getting your hopes up. I’m an idiot and I won’t meddle anymore, I promise.”

Then he goes into his own room and decides to go to bed. At least when he’s asleep there’s no chance that he’ll ruin more people’s lives.

*             *             *

Bucky comes wandering out of his room when he’s sure Steve is asleep. He peeks into Steve’s room and quietly leans his door closed, not wanting to wake him up.

He heads into the kitchen and makes himself a bowl of cereal. He shovels the milk over the cereal, letting it get soggy enough to require very little chewing. As he waits, he leafs through Steve’s most recent sketchpad that’s on the table.

The silence is interrupted by Steve’s phone vibrating on the coffee table. Bucky gets up and hurries over, looking at the caller ID.

It just says ‘Unknown Caller’. Bucky frowns. Everybody who calls Steve is in his contact list so an unidentified caller is definitely strange.

Bucky decides to answer it. “This is Steve’s phone. How can I help you?”

“Uh—does Capsicle have an assistant now? Seriously, what the hell is he doing these days?”

Bucky frowns. “Who is this?”

“How about you tell me who you are first?”

Who the hell does this guy think he is? “Since you’re the one calling my partner’s phone, I’m gonna need to know who you are before I give you any information.”

“Partner?” the guy sounds surprised.

Bucky makes a face. Did he use that word right? They never talk about what they should call each other, but it’s times like these where Bucky feels a bit out of step with today’s world. He mainly uses the word ‘partner’ since it’s what Alina and others around them use.

The man interrupts his frantic thoughts. “Is this James Barnes?”

Bucky freezes. “Okay, pal, once again, you’re the one who called Steve so I don’t have to tell you a damn thing about me. Do you have a message that I should pass on to Steve or not?”

“You still have your Brooklyn accent. No wonder Capsicles’ came back so quickly.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“This is Tony Stark,” the man says.

Bucky drops to the couch. He holds the phone tighter against his ear, afraid he’ll drop it. “Oh,” he says.

“Your turn.”

“Uh. This is James. You were right before. Steve’s sleeping.”

“Is he trying to sleep off his own idiocy?”

Bucky can’t help but laugh. “No, that’s permanent, like his tendency to commit random acts of patriotic stupidity.”

Bucky’s surprised to hear a laugh.

Then there’s silence.

It’s the most awkward conversation Bucky’s ever been a part of. “Look, Mr. Stark, I know Steve already apologized but I want to apologize too. It was inappropriate and dumb for Steve to involve you in this thing. Please just forget about it.”

“Do you remember murdering my parents?”

Christ, this guy doesn’t beat around the bush. “Uh, somewhat.”

“What does that mean?” he sounds agitated.

“I—they wiped me after every mission so my memories of my time with Hydra are really jumbled and vague. They showed me a newspaper article about the car accident when I got back to base, and I remember their car and I remember shooting a gun, but I don’t remember receiving the orders or seeing their faces.”

“So you don’t remember them?”

“I don’t remember Maria, no, because I never actually met her. But I remember Howard somewhat. We spent a lot of time with him during the war. He was a really smart man. He did a lot for the war effort. I liked him,” he tells him. He’s about to add that his clearest memory of Howard Stark is a conversation in his lab when the two of them had talked about cars, but he thinks Tony wouldn’t want to hear about that. It’s horrifyingly ironic that _that_ conversation is the only one he remembers in detail.

“You liked him but you had no problem killing him.”

“I—” Bucky takes a deep breath. How can he explain this? “I wasn’t aware of the killing that I was doing. I was there, it was with my hands, but there was no choice involved. I never made any decisions.”

Christ, where is Jemisha when he needs her? They’ve spent a lot of time addressing Bucky’s feelings of guilt over what he had done as the Soldier. He tries to recall what she’s told him.

“Hydra spent a lot of time breaking me when I was first captured. They did a thorough job and by the time they were done, I wasn’t capable of doing any thinking. I just did what they told me to or they’d punish me. I didn’t have any other thought processes other than what I could do to avoid punishment or what I could do to get rewards like food or a smile. Everything they did was designed to keep me stuck in that mental space—the food they fed me, the cell I slept in, the punishments. On top of that, they’d wipe me constantly. They didn’t want me to remember things from my old life and having that interfere with the conditioning.”

“What does wiping mean?”

“Uh, it was an electro-shock device. They’d zap my brain and it would damage my memory centers. I’m not clear on the details.”

They fall into another silence. Bucky has no idea what he hopes he’s accomplishing by telling the man this, but if he’s curious, then Bucky will tell him. He owes him that much.

“Do you have a lot of memories from that time?” Tony asks.

“I have some memories from my childhood all the way up to the missions and the wiping starting with Hydra. Then everything is really vague up until I escaped. But in general I lost huge chunks of memories. Nobody’s sure if any of them will ever come back.”

He hears Tony sigh. “This is the most bizarre conversation I’ve ever had in my life. And believe me, I’ve had some strange ones. I’m talking to the man who killed my parents. I’m actually _talking_ to him.”

Tony sounds mad. Bucky opens his mouth to apologize and hang up, but Tony’s not done.

“And you know what’s even more bizarre? I feel sorry for you. The man who murdered my parents. I thought all I’d ever feel towards you is hate and anger, but you were just a weapon. Hating you would be like hating the gun you used to shoot them.”

Bucky waits.

“Fuck!” Tony bursts out.

Then he hangs up.

Bucky slowly lowers the phone. Jesus Christ.

He hopes the conversation will bring Tony some closure. Probably not peace, but hopefully closure. Or he’ll just pretend this entire situation never happened.

Either way, Bucky’s sure they won’t ever hear from him again.

He’s surprised that he doesn’t feel as overwhelmed with guilt as he had a few months ago whenever he thought about the many victims the Winter Soldier had left behind.

He feels sadness, sorrow and regret, but not as much guilt as before. The regret is an overall encompassing regret at how many lives Hydra had destroyed in their quest for supremacy, including his own.

He’s glad his sessions with Jemisha appear to really be helping him, but it feels like a hollow victory.

*             *             *

Friday and Saturday come and go and they don’t hear from Tony. Bucky tells Steve about his conversation with him and they both agree to leave the man in peace. It’s the least they can do.

Two weeks later, they’re out eating dinner with Natasha, Sam and his girlfriend. Bucky only orders a soup and eyes everybody else’s meals with jealousy, but Steve has ordered enough food to feed an army, so Bucky knows he’ll get a nice meal once they’re home and they can cut and mush the food to his heart’s content. His metal arm is resting on the table and he keeps shifting around to relieve the pain in his neck. Steve is eyeing him but hasn’t said anything, thankfully.

They have a nice time and they’re all laughing at Bucky telling them about Achilles tangling him up in his leash the other day and him falling over in front of a group of school children who were walking by.

Steve’s phone rings and he glances at it, then frowns and excuses himself from the table. He ducks out of the restaurant where it’s quieter and Bucky continues with his story.

When Steve comes back in, he’s staring at Bucky, eyes wide.

“Tony’s coming.”

The entire table falls silent. Sam’s girlfriend has no idea what that statement means, but the rest do.

“To kill me?” Bucky asks. “Was he calling to give you a heads up?”

Steve’s still staring at him, hope blazing in his eyes. “No. He’s coming to do the scans and consultation for your arm. He’ll be here on Wednesday.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Did he mention anything else?”

Steve shakes his head. “Nope. Just told me to text him an address for Wednesday.”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “Look, let’s not get our hopes up, okay? He might be playing a joke on us or he might change his mind, and I think the man has every right to do either of those things.”

Natasha nabs a fry off Steve’s plate and chews on it. “You want to do the consult at my place? I’m leaving on Monday anyway so you’d have the place to yourself.”

Bucky smiles gratefully. “Thanks, Nat. That would be good.” Even if he would trust Tony—which he doesn’t—he doesn’t like the idea of medical related people in his home. He likes keeping his safe zone intact.

Sam’s girlfriend seems to realize that Steve and Bucky won’t be contributing to the conversation from that point onwards, so she turns to Natasha and asks her where she’s going on Monday, which leads into a game of twenty questions where Sam and his girlfriend tried to get as much info out of her as possible about her next job.

Bucky’s staring at Steve, who sits back down and picks up his fork. He doesn’t eat much and mainly spends time stabbing things on his plate.

Wednesday.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Bucky to get a new arm! Also, [LABB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB) has drawn an incredible sketch showing Steve taking care of Bucky in this chapter. I won't provide details because it'll spoil things, but I'll include a link in the chapter.

They arrive at Natasha’s apartment and let themselves in with the key she’d lent them. They’re both too wound up to sit so they end up pacing around the living room until the intercom buzzes.

Steve answers it and buzzes them in. Bucky nervously smooths down his—rather, Steve’s— dress shirt and tucks his hair behind his ears. He’s not sure what difference it’ll make to Stark if he’s dressed nice or not, but he made the effort.

Steve is heading to the door to open it, but Bucky pulls him back. “Let me do it. You don’t gotta be my shield.”

Steve steps back and Bucky opens the door.

As soon as he sees the man standing on the other side, he has an incredibly strong sense of déjà vu. He knows it’s not Howard, but damn, he gave his son a lot of his looks.

He immediately sticks out a hand. “Hi, Mr. Stark. Thanks for coming. I’m James.”

Tony stares at him for a long moment before reaching out and squeezing his hand. He releases it quickly.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Bucky steps back and lets Tony enter. There’s another man behind Tony, who steps forward and extends his hand.

“I’m Dr. Martin Chen. It’s nice to meet you, James.”

Bucky shakes his hand and gestures for them to come in. Steve steps forward and shakes everybody’s hand.

While he’s shaking Tony’s hand, he gives him a regretful look. “I’m really sorry for being a jerk, Tony. Thanks for coming. You don’t know how much this means.”

“Don’t get too excited, Capsicle. We’re here to do scans and see what we can do, if anything.”

That’s when Bucky notices Martin wheeling in a cart full of various cases and bins and he hurries over to help him pull it inside.

Tony waves away Steve’s offer of refreshments and starts helping the doctor get things set up. Bucky and Steve hover against a wall, not wanting to be in the way. While Tony and Martin’s attentions are on their equipment, Steve reaches over and discreetly squeezes Bucky’s right hand.

Bucky squeezes back.

They’ll be fine.

Finally satisfied with his equipment, Tony comes over to them. “Look, I want to make this clear. I’m here because of scientific curiosity, and because Pepper asked me to put my feeling aside and help you. Personally, I don’t know if I would have come if Pepper hadn’t pushed, but that doesn’t matter. She wants me to help you, so I’m here. I don’t want to be your friend, I don’t want to hear about how you knew Howard, and I don’t want hear about what you went through for the last seventy years. Clear?”

Bucky nods. “Of course. Thank you.”

Martin has pulled one of Natasha’s dining table chairs into the middle of the room. Tony gestures at it. “Go, sit down and take your shirt off.”

Bucky heads over and dutifully sits down. He sees Steve hesitating by the wall, but he gives him a small smile. _Stay there, I’m okay_.

He unbuttons his shirt and pulls it off, tossing it to Steve.

Martin’s eyes widen when he sees Bucky’s arm and Tony lets out a low whistle. They stare for a few minutes, then they get to work.

Tony focuses exclusively on the arm. He has a small table that he puts beside Bucky and instructs him to put the metal arm on it. He scans the arm with various instruments and pokes it with different tools. He asks him to flex his fingers or rotate his wrist from time to time, but mostly he’s acting like the arm is a separate entity lying on a table.

Bucky’s fine with that.

It’s how he treats the arm most of the time too.

Martin is focusing more on Bucky’s shoulders and back. He runs various scans and asks Bucky questions about where he feels the most pain and the frequency of the pain. Sometimes the two men confer together, using language that completely flies over Bucky’s head.

He stays completely still and focuses on his breathing and answering the doctor’s questions. He’s happy to discover that he’s not having a difficult time with this. It helps that he’s not lying down and none of the devices make loud noises. Mainly he thinks he’s doing so well because of all the work he, Steve, Jemisha, Mandeep and Sarah have been doing.

The scanning and discussions take about 30 minutes. Once he’s done examining his muscles, Martin asks him about his arm.

“How often do you use the prosthetic on a daily basis?”

“Uhm, I don’t.”

“At all?”

“Well, I use it to carry grocery bags when I have too many for one hand and I use it to crack open walnuts and rip open packages. But that’s it.”

“I see. Can I ask what the reasons are that you’re not using it more frequently?”

Bucky shifts around. “I—Mainly I don’t like it. It was forced on me and I don’t like being reminded that it’s even there. It—the arm’s done a lot of terrible things. I don’t like remembering that. If I don’t use it, I can mostly ignore it. Plus, nobody’s really taught me to how to use it. I don’t know how to make it do small, everyday things. Mostly I used it to create damage. That’s all they wanted me to use it for. But even if I learned how to use it, it’s so damn heavy that I prefer having it resting somewhere instead of doing stuff.”

The doctor’s nodding and taking notes on his tablet. Bucky sits in silence. He glances over at Steve, who’s smiling sadly, but gives him a thumbs up for encouragement.

Martin’s got a worried frown on his face. “Okay, I’ll be blunt. There’s a lot of damage. Mostly muscular, but there’s been some damage to your spinal column. Most of the damage is due to the weight of the arm, but there’s actually quite a bit of damage on your right side.”

Bucky frowns. “My right side? My right side is my useful side.”

“That’s the problem. You’ve sustained injuries due to overusing your right arm and the connecting muscles. It’s a common problem we see with amputee patients. They either don’t have a prosthetic or don’t use it properly and they end up putting way too much strain on the remaining limb. Have you ever gone to physiotherapy?”

Bucky blinks. “No.”

“That’s the problem. We strongly encourage amputee patients to regularly attend physiotherapy. You can learn how to use your remaining limb and your prosthetic limb properly without causing unnecessary strain and creating damage. The therapy can also help strengthen parts of your body that you could use to assist your remaining limb.”

“Can physiotherapy heal the damage?”

“Not all of it, no. You’re going to have to undergo surgery to fix the worst of the damage. In any case, I strongly recommend removing the prosthetic as soon as possible. It’s much heavier than any prosthetic I’d ever recommend and it’s doing more damage every minute it’s attached to you. Then I recommend undergoing the surgery. You’ll need about a month to heal after the surgery. After that, you can have the new prosthetic attached.”

“And that’s where I come in,” Tony says. He’s not looking at Bucky as he speaks; he’s busy scrolling through readings on a tablet. “What do you want the new arm to be like?”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t really care, as long as it’s light.”

Martin’s shaking his head. “No, it should be roughly the same weight as your other arm. That’ll help keep your weight distributed evenly. In addition, I would strongly recommend getting an arm that has as much function in the hands and wrists as possible. The more you can do with the prosthetic, the more you can balance your tasks between your limbs and prevent future damage.”

Tony’s taking notes. “So you want his arm being capable of the same things that his other arm is capable of?”

“Absolutely. You don’t need to be able to crush walnuts with your prosthetic but at the same time, if the prosthetic has very little function, people tend to not use it.”

“Should it be removable?” Tony asks, typing on his tablet.

Bucky understands by now that Tony’s asking Martin, not him. He’s a bit lost in this conversation anyway so he’s glad to stay out of it. He’s never thought about what he wants the arm to be like. He’s only wanted the stupid thing off. Really, he wants his original arm back, but that’s not an option.

Luckily, Martin knows what he’s talking about. “Yes, absolutely. For repairs and other occasions, it’s essential that it’s easy to remove. In addition, it would be best if the hand portion looked as realistic as possible.”

“You want nails and wrinkles, that whole bit?”

“Yes. The more realistic the hand portion looks, the more likely the patient is to use it regularly. If they’re not afraid of getting stared at, they’ll use it in public and amongst company.”

Tony’s fingers are flying over three different tablets. “Why stop at the hand? I can make the whole thing look realistic.”

“The more realistic, the better. But the weight and function are the most important.”

They continue conferring, discussing other aspects of the arm that Bucky’s never even thought of. He doesn’t interrupt them. He’s still stuck on the thought of having to undergo that surgery and then having to get to New York for the second surgery.

Once they’re done, they ask Bucky if he has anything to add. He shrugs. “I just want a useful arm that doesn’t cause me pain.”

“That I can do,” Tony says. He rummages around in his bag of tools and pulls out various instruments. “Alright, you ready to lose the arm?”

Bucky jerks back in surprise and Steve straightens from his slouch against the wall with a startled look on his face. “What do you mean _lose_ the arm, Tony?!” Steve asks, hurrying over.

“Our good doctor here just finished explaining why this enormous chunk of engineering genius should no longer be attached to your boy here.”

“Don’t you need to be at your lab or something?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Calm down, Goldilocks. I can’t remove the entire arm at this point, obviously. But I can undo the connections at the elbow and remove that piece. It’ll take away about half the weight.”

Steve opens his mouth but Bucky doesn’t care about any risks. If Tony can remove even a small portion of the hated dead weight, then he’ll let him.

“Please, go ahead,” he says.

Tony gets to work. He cuts through metal and wires, and sparks fly everywhere, but Bucky’s surprised at how quiet the tools are.

Suddenly, Bucky feels half of his body falling off. He overbalances and tries to catch himself with his metal arm, only to discover that it’s lying on the table and no longer attached to him. Martin reaches out and catches him, pushing back into the chair.

They’re all staring at the metal forearm and hand that are lying motionless on the table.

Tony turns off his tools and immediately starts packing up the arm in a case. He pauses when he sees Bucky staring at it. “Did you want a moment to say good bye or something?”

Bucky scowls. “God, no. Please, take it and do whatever you want with it.”

“James, while we start getting packed up, do you want to get up and walk around a bit? It’ll be strange for a little while. Your balance will be off,” Martin says.

Everybody steps back from the chair. Bucky braces himself on the arm rests to push himself up, and is immediately freaked out when he hears his left shoulder rotating, the arm trying to do what his brain is telling it. But of course, most of the arm is now missing, so there’s nothing to do the bracing.

He puts more weight on his right arm and stands up. Martin and Steve hover anxiously, ready to catch him if he falls.

As soon as he’s standing straight, he can feel the difference. He has literally lost about twenty pounds of dead weight from his left side. It’s as if he’s been carrying a twenty pound barbell in his left hand for the past two years and suddenly he’s dropped it to the ground.

He feels himself listing to the right, his body accustomed to compensating for a weight that’s no longer there. He takes a few steps and finds his balance is completely off—he’s stumbling to his right with every step.

“Damn, did I really tilt so far to the right this whole time?” he mutters.

Martin smiles. “Yes. But because of the weight, you didn’t appear to be tilting. Without the tilting, you would have fallen over to your left constantly. You became so accustomed to it that you stopped noticing it. It’ll take a bit of practice to get used to it. Of course, once you get the new prosthetic, you’ll have to re-learn your new center of balance once again. But this is why I strongly recommend physiotherapy.”

Steve’s frowning in cocern, watching Bucky who’s slowly stumbling around the room. “Doctor, what about doing physiotherapy before the new arm?”

“Absolutely not. In fact, I’m going to recommend that James do as little physical activity as possible until he does the surgery, and then only the physical activity that’s absolutely necessary until he fully heals.”

Tony’s staring at Bucky as he finishes packing everything up. “You look like a new born horse learning how to walk.”

“It’s how I feel,” Bucky calls over.

Martin and Tony finish packing everything up and start heading for the door. Tony shakes Steve’s hand and gives James a curt nod, telling him he’ll start working on the arm as soon as he’s back in his lab and that James should call once he’s ready. James thanks him for removing the arm, but he doesn’t dwell on it when Tony obviously doesn’t want to talk about it. He only gives James a tight smile and then he’s heading down the hallway, pushing the cart full of equipment towards the elevator.

Martin tells them he’s going to contact a specialist in DC who can do the surgery for Bucky and he’ll have the specialist call them to schedule an appointment. Unfortunately, there’s no telling how long he’ll have to wait for the surgery, but he’ll try to speed it up as much as possible. Then he says his good-byes and hurries after Tony.

After they’re gone, Steve and Bucky stand there, staring at the empty hallway. Then Bucky elbows Steve.

“Hey, guess what?”

“What?”

“I almost got rid of the whole stupid arm!” Bucky sing-songs, wiggling his left shoulder. He thinks it probably looks weird—a metal chunk hanging off the metal plating in his shoulder, but he doesn’t care.

As much as the people in his life had been helping him shed the mental garbage that Hydra had left behind, they couldn’t do anything about the physical garbage.

Until today. Half the stupid arm is gone, and pretty soon, the entire stupid arm would be gone, and with it, a huge physical reminder of what Hydra had done to him and the countless people he had hurt with the arm.

Steve grins. “Yeah, you did.”

“Come on, let’s lock up and head home. It’ll probably take me twice as long to get to the parking garage.”

Steve laughs and hands him his shirt. “You’re in your nineties, Buck. You’re allowed to take all the time you want.”

*             *             *

The surgery takes place a month after their meeting with Tony and Martin. Bucky quickly realizes that Steve’s dead-set on following Martin’s instructions and doesn’t let Bucky do anything more strenuous with his upper body than lifting utensils or his toothbrush.

He has to cancel his dog walking sessions and isn’t allowed to ride his bike, carry groceries or help with most of the chores. They have their usual monthly dentist appointment with Mandeep, and Bucky regretfully cancels his next appointment, figuring he shouldn’t be sitting in the chair so soon after surgery. Mandeep is happy to hear about his progress with his prosthetic and tells them to reschedule the appointment whenever it’s convenient for him.

The inactivity grates on his nerves, but he gets creative and finds himself other things to do. Steve does a good job balancing between putting his foot down where Bucky’s activities are concerned but not treating him like a helpless child. Steve tries to get him to go outside for a bit, but Bucky refuses. He hates the idea of being stared at by everybody for missing half his arm. He’s not ready to deal with that.

The surgery ends up being easier than he thought it would be. They go to the hospital together and Steve is allowed to stay in the room and he lowers the bed Bucky’s in so he can get used to being horizontal. It’s a bit strange not being in Mandeep’s office, but Bucky engages his grounding techniques and manages to remain calm.

The anesthesiologist comes in and explains the sedation process and allows Bucky to inspect the mask. Bucky’s glad that it won’t be tied to his face—only held against his nose and mouth until he’s asleep.

He tightly holds Steve’s hand and closes his eyes as the mask is lightly pressed to his face and he starts counting backwards as instructed. Just when he starts feeling the first twinges of panic, he gets unbelievably tired and starts having trouble with his counting. Within a few more minutes, he’s fast asleep.

The surgery goes very well. Bucky’s unaware of anything until he’s waking up in a recovery room, Steve in a chair beside him. Bucky’s groggy and unhappy to be lying on his front and he’s sure he isn’t as polite to Steve as the man deserves, but his memory of that time period is vague.

He has to stay at the hospital for several hours until he’s recovered from the sedation sufficiently to get himself into a wheelchair and allow Steve to roll him out to a waiting cab.

He’s exhausted but still puts up a fuss when Steve insists on carrying him into the apartment. The minute he’s in Steve’s arms, Bucky falls asleep again. He doesn’t know that Steve had called Alina ahead of time and that she hurries ahead of them, opening every door that’s in their path.

[Steve brings Bucky to his bed](http://i.imgur.com/qQ1gFSv.jpg) and lays him down on his stomach and gently pulls off his outer layers of clothes. Then Steve collapses in his own bed to get some rest while Alina has a seat in the rocking chair that Steve has pulled into the hallway for her. From there, she can keep an eye on both of them as they sleep, but she isn’t in direct reach in case Bucky wakes up confused.

Bucky’s next clear memory is waking up the next morning, his body stiff and his back in pain.

He hates feeling useless and he wants to get up and start taking care of himself right away, but Steve reasons with him that he’ll just be undoing all the hard work they’d all done.

So he lets Steve take care of him. He stays in bed for several days, letting Steve feed him, clean him and carry him to the bathroom when he needs it. They pass the time reading to each other and playing board games.

At one point when Bucky has woken Steve in the middle of the night to help him to the bathroom, he grouses that Steve would be so much better off if Bucky weren’t there.

Steve tells him to hush and focuses on getting them back into Bucky’s bed. Then Steve leans down and kisses him on the cheek and tucks his hair behind his ear. “Don’t say stupid things like that, Barnes. It makes my heart hurt. And if I’m hurt, who the hell is going to carry either of us to the bathroom, huh?”

*             *             *

Bucky’s forced inactivity grates on his nerves, but at least he convinces Steve to release him from bed-rest after a few days. Steve keeps a sharp eye on him, but Bucky does a pretty solid job of monitoring himself. It might annoy him, but he’s not stupid enough to do something to re-injure himself. That would be like throwing everybody’s hard work—and Steve’s money—in their faces.

As he heals, he’s thrilled to discover that the pain he’s lived with in his neck, shoulders and back are truly gone. The discomfort left from the surgery lessens each day, and in its place is nothing.

 _Nothing_.

No pain.

Steve is so thrilled when Bucky reports this that he momentarily forgets himself and makes a grab for Bucky to pull him into his arms and it’s Bucky who has to laughingly hold up his arm and keep him at bay.

“Jesus, Rogers! No strenuous activity, remember?”

Steve blushes and pulls back.

“No, no, hey, I want my hug. Only slower.”

Steve reaches forward and they settle into a timid hug with barely any contact. Bucky snorts. “That’s the type of hug you give your great aunt when you see her once a year on your birthday.”

Steve laughs. “Just wait a few more weeks, Buck, and we’ll be back to our usual. I know this whole process is a lot, but it’ll be worth it.”

*             *             *

A few weeks after the surgery, they go back to the hospital for a check-up, and the doctor who completed the surgery states that Bucky’s ready to receive his new prosthetic.

Bucky insists on being the one to call Tony to schedule their appointment. Tony had sent a short text message to Steve before the surgery had even taken place: _Arm is ready. Make appt when ready._

Bucky speaks with a woman named Pepper, who helps him chose an appointment date and tells them they are welcome to stay at Stark Tower during his recovery time. She offers to have them flown over in their private jet, but Bucky declines.

Tony Stark is doing him way too many favors that he doesn’t deserve. The least he can do is save him some jet fuel.

Steve looks over from the stove when Bucky hangs up.

“So how do you want to get to New York?”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t want to deal with a plane. What about taking a bus?”

“Sure. You wanna see if you can book tickets online?”

On the morning of their departure, Sam drives them to the bus depot. Steve’s carrying a duffle bag with a few days worth of clothes and other necessities for them. Bucky’s in charge of the bus tickets.

The trip takes about 6 hours, which Bucky mainly spends sleeping while Steve reads.

As they go, they come to an agreement of how to handle the fact that they’ll be in New York. Even though they both realize going back to New York should hold huge significance for both of them, Bucky reasons that he’s too mentally exhausted to deal with that.

He just wants to get to Tony’s lab, switch the arm and get back home.

Once this whole arm situation is dealt with, if Steve wants to spend some time in New York, Bucky will happily go with him.

But dealing with all those things at the same time is too much.

Steve agrees and they ignore the fact that they’re going to New York.

They’re going to Tony’s lab, which happens to be in New York.

Once the bus arrives in New York, they catch a cab to the tower. Bucky keeps his sunglasses on and the hood of his sweater pulled up when they get there. He has no idea if SHIELD is keeping an eye on Tony these days, but he wants to avoid being noticed by anybody who is going to turn into a problem.

Steve introduces himself at the front desk and he doesn’t even have to say Bucky’s name before they’re waved through and directed straight into the elevator that takes them to Tony’s lab.

They enter the lab and take a moment to gaze at the many lights, sounds and _things_ that are moving around everywhere.

Bucky takes a step back into the elevator, immediately feeling overwhelmed.

Tony is bent over something on a table, but he notices them right away. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite icy duo,” he says, then points his finger at a small room off to the side. “Go in there, shut the door and wait for me.”

Bucky takes Steve’s hand as they make their way through the throng of noise and lights towards the room. Once they’re inside, Steve shuts the door and they both let out a sigh of relief.

The room is sound proof and resembles a medical office very much like Mandeep’s cubicles.

There’s a large chair in the center and numerous lights hanging from the ceiling and there are various screens attached to the ceiling and the walls. Right now, all the screens and lights are off and it’s quite peaceful.

Steve drops the duffle back in the corner and has a seat on one of the chairs along the wall. Bucky knows how this goes by now. He makes his way to the chair and sits down.

He doesn’t have to wait long until Tony comes in.

“Ready, Barnes?”

Bucky nods. “Yes, sir.”

Tony throws a sheet-like cover at him. “Take off your shirt and put that on. It ties up at the neck and slides over your right arm.”

Bucky does as instructed and throws his shirt towards the duffle bag. He pulls the sheet on and Steve helps him tie it closed at his neck.

Then Tony holds up a syringe. “Ready to go night-night?”

Bucky nearly melts with relief at the sight of the syringe. At least he won’t have to deal with the mask again. “Absolutely.”

Tony gives him the injection and Bucky sinks into that familiar half-sleep.

Once Bucky’s out, Tony presses a button on the wall, and suddenly, the wall disappears and Steve is staring into a dark operating room, full of blinking machines, screens and bright lights shining onto an operating table.

Steve blinks and then stares at Tony. “I—what—”

Tony gives him an unimpressed look. “Would your boy have been this relaxed if I had him sit in there?”

Steve smiles. “Thank you, Tony. Really. That’s—that’s amazing. Thank you.”

“You stay out here. The wall will turn to glass once I’m through so you can watch if you want.”

“He—Tony, Bucky’s got a form of the serum too. Kind of like me. He’ll metabolize the sedative faster than normal people.”

“I’ll have a million machines keeping an eye on every single body function he has. If he starts waking up, I’ll know it way before he does.”

Tony motions Steve back and presses a few more buttons on the side of Bucky’s chair, and then he’s pushing the chair through the open door into the operating room.

The door slides closed behind him and Steve re-arranges his chair so he can watch the procedure.

Two people are in the room when Tony enters and they get to work lifting Bucky from the chair onto the table. Steve recognizes one of the people as Doctor Martin Chen.

Tony washes his hands and pulls on a mask, gloves and goggles. Then Tony goes to the table where Bucky’s lying and everybody starts getting things set up.

Steve can’t hear what they’re saying, but he doesn’t mind. He knows he can probably ask JARVIS to let him listen, or even provide him with a screen showing what’s going on, but he doesn’t need to see the details.

He knows Bucky prefers Steve not know some of the details of his time with Hydra, especially if it’s things Steve doesn’t really need to know. Steve figures Bucky would prefer Steve not witness the details of how the metal arm is attached to his body or what will be required to fully remove it. He’ll respect Bucky’s unspoken wishes and only watch what he can see from here.

It’s not much. The hours go by and he mainly sees the hunched figures of Tony, Martin and the third person doing something under the cover of the sheet that they tied to Bucky. They’re working on Bucky’s left side, and Steve can only see his right side, so it’s not very exciting from his view point. There are screens and holographic displays everywhere, data continuously scrolling across them, but most of them mean nothing to Steve.

He does recognize the display that’s showing Bucky’s heart rate, so he keeps an eye on that.

Eventually Steve pulls out his phone and starts playing on it, looking up every few minutes to check the heart rate monitor and see if anything has changed.

Everything is always exactly the same whenever he looks.

That’s good.

The hours slowly tick by. At some point Tony retrieves a syringe from a side table and injects some more sedative into Bucky’s right arm. The heart rate monitor hadn’t shown any changes, but Steve is happy Tony took the precaution.

Finally, Steve sees Martin Chen going to a small case on a nearby table and lifting out a human arm.

“Wh—?!” Shock sends him to his feet in seconds.

It can’t be—there’s no way they’d—Tony wouldn’t—

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

“Can—uh—is that a _real_ arm that Dr. Chen has or is that the prosthetic?”

“It’s the new prosthetic Tony has developed for Mr. Barnes.”

Steve blinks. He watches Martin carry it over to Tony. It looks exactly like a dismembered arm, complete with a limp hand hanging from a wrist.

“You’re sure it’s—fake?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers. Tony designed it to look as realistic as possible. Would you like to look at some schematics?”

He’s sorely tempted, but he thinks it’ll be nicer to inspect the arm for the first time when Bucky sees it. They can learn about it together.

“No, thank you. Thanks for the information.”

“You’re welcome.”

Silence descends on the room once more and Steve goes back to playing on his phone and watching the heart rate monitor.

Finally, the third person moves away from Bucky and starts turning off various machines and holographic displays. Martin moves over to the sink and pulls off his mask, googles and gloves and scrubs his hands.

Tony is the last to move away from the operating table, and they all spend a while cleaning things up. Lastly, they lift Bucky back onto the chair. The door that Steve’s been staring through slides open and the three of them come back through, pushing Bucky on the chair.

“Hello, Steve!” Martin greets him, looking tired but pleased.

“Hi, Martin. Nice to see you again.”

Martin gestured at the young man who had assisted them. “This is my assistant, Michael.”

Steve shakes Michael’s hand, who also looks exhausted.

“Did everything go okay?”

Tony scoffs. “If it didn’t, you think I’d be out here and not in there fixing things?”

Steve flushes. “Sorry, Tony,” he says. “So now what happens?”

They position Bucky’s chair in its original spot and Michael excuses himself. Tony has pulled a tablet out and is reading something on it.

Martin is turning on some of the machines in the room, probably monitoring Bucky’s vital signs. “He should be coming back to himself in a bit. We completely removed the old anchoring system in his shoulder and installed a new one. But it needs time to heal so I don’t want him moving that shoulder at all for about a week. We’ve attached the new arm so you both can see it, but I actually recommend keeping the arm detached while the anchor heals. There will be less chance that he accidentally damages his shoulder if the arm isn’t attached.”

Steve realizes he’s trying to peek at Bucky’s new arm while Martin’s talking. He’s standing on Bucky’s right side so he doesn’t have a good view of it. He can’t wait to see it up close.

“You can look at the arm if you want, Steve. Just don’t touch the bandaged area at his shoulder.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll wait until Bucky’s up.”

Then Steve starts having second thoughts about this plan. He knows how grouchy Bucky tends to be after the sedation. If he has the new arm attached, Steve is betting he won’t be able to stop Bucky from swinging it around and doing things with it.

“Listen, doctor, could we remove the prosthetic until Bucky’s fully recovered? He tends to be a bit…difficult when he comes out of sedation. I don’t wanna fight with him but I’m pretty sure he’ll move around too much if he has the arm attached.”

Tony reaches under the sheet covering Bucky’s left side and moments later, he’s lifting off the arm and handing it to Martin, who takes it from him and puts it in a case. He snaps it shut and hands it to Steve.

“There you go.”

Steve blinks and takes the case. He’s holding Bucky’s arm.

Bucky’s lying on a chair next to him and Steve’s holding his left arm.

It’s one of the most bizarre things he’s ever experienced.

“Uh, thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome. Now, I’d like you stay in New York for the next week so I can keep an eye on how the anchor is healing. Once I’m satisfied, we can attach the arm and make sure he has proper function and then you’ll be free to go home and start doing physiotherapy.”

Steve nods. “We’ll do that. Thank you, doctor.”

Martin excuses himself and leaves Steve with Tony and a still sleeping Bucky.

“Listen, Tony, I don’t know what to say. You have no idea what this means for Bucky. You—”

Tony holds up a hand. “Like I told you before, I’m not interested in having that discussion.”

Right. “Okay.”

There’s silence until Tony curses quietly and lowers the tablet. “Steve look, maybe one day I will be but right now, no.”

“Okay. I understand.”

“Do you two want to stay at the tower for the next week?”

“It’s okay, Tony. I don’t want to inconvenience—”

“You know how big this place is. We won’t be tripping over each other. If I want to see either of you, I’ll know where to find you, but if I don’t, it makes no difference to me whether you’re in a hotel down the street or a few floors below me.”

“Okay, but I’m paying you as if we’re staying in a hotel. I insist.”

“Fine. I’ll send you a bill at the end of the week. Holler if it’s an emergency.”

With that, Tony is out the door and Steve is left alone with Bucky.

And Bucky’s arm. In a case.

Jesus Christ, what he wouldn’t give to go back to 1937 on some days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you check out the [adorable sketch](http://i.imgur.com/qQ1gFSv.jpg) of Steve putting Bucky to bed? I love the details in the photos on Bucky's wall - they're drawn with so few details, but it's still possible to tell exactly what they are! Go check out [LABB's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB) other Steve/Bucky art if you liked what you saw.


	26. Chapter 26

The week spent at the tower goes by faster than Bucky thought it would. He only has a fuzzy recollection of the entire surgery day but when he wakes up the next morning, he feels fine except for a dull throbbing pain in his left shoulder.

He and Steve spend the week in an apartment in the tower. Food and other necessities appear seemingly out of thin air and the AI that controls the entire complex gives them all the tv shows, movies and e-books they want. They’re both thrilled when JARVIS informed them that he can show them pretty much any recorded baseball game that has ever been played. Bucky has JARVIS play them some of the best baseball games that had taken place over the past seventy years and they make huge strides forward in catching up with their baseball history.

Bucky also spends a lot of time staring at his bandaged covered shoulder. He knows all of the Hydra parts have been removed. Steve has told him about his new arm and it’s currently sitting in its case on the table, but Bucky hasn’t wanted to look at it yet.

He wants to see the full effect once his shoulder has healed and the arm is attached.

Once he sees the arm, if it’s as good as he thinks it will be, he’ll want to put it on right away and that’ll damage the still-healing anchor.

So he goes back to operating under the pretense that he doesn’t have a left arm—which is technically true at this point—and spends the time watching television, eating slowly (it’s one of the few times that his slower eating doesn’t annoy him) and playing board games and card games with Steve.

By day three Steve allows him to join him for slow jogs along the corridors and they spend a lot of time out on one of the enormous balconies. Doctor Chen also comes by and takes a look under the bandages. He tells them that everything is healing nicely but he wants them to stay until the end of the week.

By day four they’re both missing home and Bucky tries to peek under the bandages and ignores Steve’s scowls when he catches him.

On day six, they’re on the floor, playing a game of cards. Bucky’s sitting with his cards and Steve’s lying on his stomach, his feet kicking in the air. Bucky has the monopoly board propped up in front of him, since he can’t hold the cards and play them with only one hand. He keeps his cards on the ground behind the board and carefully monitors Steve in case he decides to peek. They’re both in sweatpants and Bucky’s hair is in two small french braids that had taken Steve half an hour to put in. Bucky had found a step by step video on the internet and Steve is always happy to play hair stylist.

Steve lets out a yawn and wiggles his bare toes in the air.

“Do you have a three of diamonds?” he asks.

Bucky shakes his head. “Nope. Go fish.”

Steve reaches for the pile of cards sitting between them and takes a card.

That’s when the doorbell rings. Bucky doesn’t look up from his cards, debating what card to ask Steve for. “JARVIS who’s at the door?” he asks.

“It’s Ms. Pepper Potts and Tony.”

Their eyes meet and panic sets in.

They were not expecting any visitors. They both leap up and frantically stare at each other, not knowing what to do or where to go. The first thought in his head is whether he should pull the braids out of his hair—

Then a million terrifying possibilities start shooting through Bucky’s head and he forgets about his hair entirely. What if they’re here to kick them both out? What if they’re here to take the arm away? Can Tony take the anchor back? Is that physically possible without surgery? What if he wants to take it back _and_ he has to undergo surgery again?

Bucky scowls at himself. Stop, stop, _stop_.

Nothing’s going to be solved if he doesn’t open the door. Steve is still looking frantic, scrubbing at a small stain on his shirt. Bucky smacks at his hand. “Look, they didn’t give us a heads up that they were coming. They can deal with us not being presentable.”

“Buck, this shirt’s got a soup stain on it and I’m not wearing socks!”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You think I’m happy that they’re gonna see me when I haven’t had time to fix my hair and I’m wearing your stupid bright green sweatpants? Calm down. Nobody’s gonna notice you’re not wearing socks. I’m more worried that they’ve come to take the arm back.”

Before Steve can say anything, Bucky heads over to the door and opens it, steeling himself. He’s greeted by the sight of a smiling blond woman, and Tony standing off to the side, not looking at him.

“Hello, James. We haven’t officially met—I’m Pepper Potts. I’m sorry for coming by unannounced by I only just got home and I wanted to see how you two were doing.”

“Hello, Ms. Potts. It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.”

He remembers the rest of his manners and sticks his hand out and shakes her hand. “Uh, would you like to come in?”

“Only if it’s not an inconvenience. I know you didn’t know we were coming.”

“Well—we’re not exactly dressed for company…?”

She laughs. “That’s fine.”

He steps back from the door and she walks in, heading straight for Steve to greet him.

Bucky turns his attention to Tony. “Hello, Mr. Stark. It’s very nice to—”

Tony scowls and brushes past James, giving him a tight, fake smile on his way in.

Pepper has taken a seat on the couch and is chatting with Steve, who is discreetly moving around the room, picking up random clothes, pieces of board games and his cereal bowl that he’d left on the coffee table.

Bucky takes a quick look around. Their cards are still on the floor, so he hurries over and scrapes them up, tucking them under his chin so he can pick up the monopoly board. Steve throws one of his sweaters after him, which lands half on his shoulder. He follows Steve’s lead and dumps everything into their bedroom, then shuts the door.

Steve is still holding a cheery conversation with Pepper, asking her about her job and where she’d just travelled to.

Tony is slowly wandering around the apartment, avoiding Steve and Bucky as they frantically try to put things in order and get Pepper a glass of water.

It must look bizarre—Pepper sitting on the couch as the three men buzz around the room, two of them cleaning and trying their best to avoid bumping into the third man.

Finally, Bucky comes to a stop by the couch. Steve’s sitting in one of the chairs and he’s trying to indicate with his eyebrows that Bucky should sit too, but he’s too wound up.

Now that they won’t be distracted by their mess, Bucky’s back to worrying over why they’re here.

He decides to just get it over with. “Look, Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts, if you want the arm back, I won’t fight you. It’s your property. It’s there on the table,” he says, pointing. “We can be gone in ten minutes if you want us out. The only thing I’d like to ask is if we can have Dr. Chen’s contact info so we can get in touch with him about the check-up.”

Pepper blinks at him and her smile disappears. “Is that why you think we’re here? To take the arm back and kick you out?”

Bucky shrugs. “Why else would Mr. Stark come visit? He has no other reason to willingly be in the same room with me. I don’t understand why he couldn’t just send one of his people to pick up the arm and escort us out, but that’s his right.”

Pepper sighs. “James, believe me, nobody is taking that arm from you. It’s yours. I promise. Tony has no intentions to take it back. And nobody’s kicking either of you out. You’re free to stay as long as you want.”

Bucky stares at her. “Then why are you here? Ma’am?”

Steve gives him a look for his rudeness, but Bucky doesn’t care. He doesn’t understand what’s going on and that’s not okay.

“We just came by to see how the two of you were doing,” she says.

Steve gives her a smile, but it’s a tight smile. “Pepper, you could have asked JARVIS for an update and watched recordings to see what we were doing. And Doctor Chen would be happy to give you an update on how Buck’s last check-up went. You didn’t have to come here in person.”

She sighs softly. “Fine. The truth? I wanted Tony to see the two of you as you normally live these days. Warts and all.”

“You mean, lack of socks and all?” Bucky can’t help but chime in.

She laughs and Steve rolls his eyes and blushes slightly. Bucky notices he’s grabbed a pair of socks from the bedroom at some point. What a knucklehead.

“I thought I could make my point a lot better if we caught you two off guard and didn’t give you enough time to put on any fake—”

“What do you do?”

They all turn to stare at Tony, who’s standing the window, staring outside with no expression on his face.

Bucky figures he was speaking to him. “Uh, what am I doing right now? Steve and I were playing go fish.”

“No. In general. What are you doing?”

Bucky blinks. “Well, at home in DC, I’m mainly busy putting my body and my brain back to order. I go to therapy with Jemisha once a week. She’s wonderful. Steve and I are working on fixing my teeth with Mandeep. That takes time. I help take care of the house and buy groceries. Oh, I get Alina’s groceries for her too when we go. And I walk some of the dogs in our building. Alina’s, Ed’s, the Gill’s…uh, we also go for runs. By ‘we’ I mean Sam, Steve and I, and Natasha when she’s around. We also go out to dinner with them—we’ve just started doing that recently. Uh, Steve and I read a lot too, we play board games and we watch our house hunting show and the food factory—”

Tony holds up a hand to stop the barrage of words. Bucky immediately closes his mouth. He has no idea how much or little detail Tony wanted but he figured it’s better to provide too much information than too little.

“You’re not training?”

Bucky blinks again. “Training for what?” Maybe Tony means the exposure therapy, but he wouldn’t know about that…or would he?

“To resume your old job.”

“My—my old job? Uh, I hear they have machines that do the lifting now. I learned that at the museum. They have this exhibit.”

Tony stares at him. “Machines?”

“Yeah. To do the lifting? Of the crates? At the dock…? That was my last job. I had others, but that was the most recent before…oh, unless you mean the military? Uh, I have no desire to join the army again, sir. Really, I’ve had enough.”

Tony’s looking at him like he’s mentally deficient. Bucky thinks he’s missed some enormous signal here.

“I’m not talking about your job from seventy fucking years ago, I’m talking about the job that you’ve been busy doing for the _last_ seventy years. You know—killing people? Lots of people?”

Steve is shifting around and Bucky knows he’s about to say something, but Bucky gives him a quick look. He can handle this. Well, he hopes he can handle this. He makes his way to stand beside Steve’s chair.

Just in case.

Pepper rubs her forehead. “Tony, please.”

“No, Pepper. No ‘Tony, please’.”

Bucky nods. “He’s right, Ms. Potts. He has the right to ask these questions and I owe him answers.” He focuses his full attention at Tony. “Mr. Stark, like I told you on the phone, I had very little control over any part of my life for the last seventy years. I underwent extensive brainwashing and conditioning. It didn’t happen overnight, or even over the span of a few months. It took _years_. My memories are a bit vague from that time, but I think it was roughly ten years before they had me in the condition that they wanted me in. You know why it took that long? I fought them every step of the way until eventually, my brain and my body surrendered despite my best efforts. There’s only so much you can put the human body and mind through before they start doing things on their own. It’s an ingrained survival mechanism. If your will is at odds with what is best for your long term survival, your body and brain kind of take over and start steering things.”

He knows this because Jemisha’s explained it many, many times.

“I’m very, very sorry about the damage I caused, but it wasn’t my fault. I never willingly accepted those assignments. It wasn’t even a case of them holding a gun to my head—they didn’t need to. They had full control of every part of me. Like you said on the phone, I was nothing more than a weapon. They pointed me at somebody, gave me instructions and I carried them out.”

Bucky takes a second to gently squeeze Steve’s shoulder, who’s looking pale.

“I’m very sorry that Hydra chose your parents as targets and I’m sorry they sent me to carry out the mission. But I didn’t choose to kill them and their deaths aren’t my fault. I was the one who killed them, yes, but I wasn’t the one who signed their death warrants. I understand you’re angry and it’s easiest to blame someone who’s standing right in front of you. I get that, I do. I won’t ask you to forgive me or to stop being angry—you’re the only one who gets to decide to do those things. But I will keep telling you that I never wanted that life and I’m trying to get back to living life as a human being as opposed to a weapon.”

The room descends into silence. Then: “So you get to live while the ones you killed don’t? How is that fair?”

“Sir, life isn’t fair. Believe me, if I could give my life to any of the people I hurt or killed, I would do it in a heartbeat, but that’s not possible. And if I killed myself then yes, I’d be as dead as them, but what good would that do? It wouldn’t bring any of them back, and I wouldn’t have a chance to contribute positively to society. That’s what I’m trying to do. That’s what I’m going to spend the rest of my life doing.”

He needs to get Jemisha a giant present as soon as they’re back in Washington. He feels immensely proud of himself when he remembers that just a few months ago, he was the one asking Jemisha exactly what Tony has been asking—only he’d been crying and much angrier than Tony is, filled with self-loathing and anger at himself—and Jemisha had told him over and over again what he is now passing on to Tony.

He’s come a long way.

He’s still angry at Hydra and there are days that his anger unfortunately ends up being directed at Steve or pieces of furniture, but that’s getting better too.

Tony stares out the window for a long time. They all wait for him make the next move.

Bucky reaches down and gently rubs the back of Steve’s neck as they wait.

“What’s wrong with your teeth? 40s dental hygiene practices?”

“Not exactly. That didn’t help, sure, but mainly Hydra spent very little time worrying about my teeth. I was fed through a feeding tube so I didn’t need my teeth for anything. Most of them rotted to the point where they fell out or they were ripped out. And they’d hit me in the face with whatever they had in their hands when I disobeyed, so that broke a lot of the teeth in the front. Anyway, by the time Mandeep—that’s our dentist—removed all the damaged ones I had about five teeth left. We’ve been working on getting implants put in.”

Tony turns from the window and stares at him. His expression is unreadable.

“Five teeth?”

“Yes, sir. Approximately. I didn’t really count them. Uh, I can call Mandeep and she can tell you  exactly—”

“What about the arm?”

Bucky’s brain is starting to hurt from the speed of the topic changes.

“That wasn’t completely Hydra’s doing. After I fell from the train, my arm was completely mangled. They cut it off after they captured me. They didn’t build the metal arm until many years later. I can’t be more specific than that, sorry. My memories aren’t the best from that entire time period.”

“Due to the electro-shock?”

“Yes. That didn’t start until much later, but they’d been conditioning me and keeping me in cryo-freeze on and off by that point, so everything got blurred and messed up when they started zapping me.”

There’s another silence. Finally Tony turns from the window. “I’m hungry. We’re ordering dinner.”

None of the other three occupants in the room interrupt while he places an order with JARVIS. Several minutes of silence go by until Pepper engages Steve in some casual chit-chat. While they wait for the food, Bucky stays by Steve’s side, rubbing his neck, and Tony stays by the window.

When the doorbell rings, Bucky goes to open it and the waiters carry the food to the dining table and get things set up.

During the commotion of activity, Steve looks up at Bucky. “Buck, you don’t gotta eat the steak if you don’t want to. Just eat whatever you want and I’ll make sure they don’t take the plates away at the end. You can finish later,” he whispers.

Bucky knows Steve’s thinking about the fact that Tony had ordered steak and Bucky can’t exactly cut large slabs of meat by himself at the moment, being one-armed and all. Steve doesn’t want Bucky to be embarrassed in front of Tony or Pepper.

Bucky shakes his head. “It’ll be fine. They want to see how we live day to day? Let them see.”

They sit down at the table, Steve taking the chair next to Bucky’s. Bucky stabs his steak and transfers it to Steve’s plate. While Steve cuts it up into manageable chunks, Bucky picks up his knife and cuts the potatoes into smaller pieces. Once he’s satisfied, he puts down the knife and picks up his fork. When Steve’s done cutting, he scrapes the chunks onto Bucky’s plate.

Now that Bucky’s all set, he digs into dinner, spearing one piece of food at a time and chewing carefully before moving on to the next piece. He can tell that Pepper and Tony had been discreetly watching them, but neither he nor Steve acknowledge it.

Once everyone is settled, Steve and Pepper go back to engaging in small talk while Tony remains silent and pokes at his dinner, and Bucky focuses on chewing properly.

*             *             *

The next morning, Dr. Chen arrives and removes the bandages from Bucky’s arm and carefully inspects the anchor and the surrounding tissue.

“It’s healed very nicely. It actually looks much better than it usually does at this stage, which is great.”

Thank you, pseudo-serum, Bucky thinks. He’s nearly vibrating with excitement. “So we can attach the arm?”

Martin smiles. “Yes, we can attach the arm. Let me just contact Tony first.”

Bucky and Steve wait anxiously as Martin asks JARVIS to get Tony to come up to see them.

The man arrives within a few minutes and heads straight to the case that’s been sitting on the table. He doesn’t greet any of the people in the room and Bucky has no indication whether their conversation yesterday had changed anything for him. But Tony doesn’t owe Bucky anything and the least Bucky can do for him is give him his space. He’s given him all the relevant information that Tony may want, the next step—if he even choses to take one—is up to Tony.

Tony opens the case and lifts out the arm.

Bucky’s eyes widen when he sees how life-like the arm is. Steve laughs when he sees the expression on Bucky’s face. “It’s amazing, isn’t it, Buck?”

As Tony brings it closer, Bucky can see the color of the skin matches his other arm almost exactly and there are wrinkles on the hands and even a faint dusting of hair along the back forearm.

“Oh, my God, it looks so real,” he breathes, mesmerized.

“I told you I’d make it look as realistic as possible, didn’t I?” Tony mutters, stopping when he’s next to Bucky.

Steve and Bucky are both bent over, staring at the arm. Now that he’s practically nose to nose with it, Bucky can see that the skin-like covering has an artificial sheen to it, but Tony had even included faint blue veins on the back of the hand and very real looking fingernails.

It’s perfect.

Martin takes it from Tony and moves to Bucky’s left side. “Shirt off, please.”

Right. Bucky pulls his shirt off and throws it towards the nearby chair.

“Alright, let’s get it attached. We’ll put it on, then we’ll focus on some preliminary movements to get it calibrated properly and then Tony will show you how to remove it and some basic maintenance procedures.”

Bucky stands still as the arm is moved towards the anchor in his shoulder. He can hear a faint clicking sound as it snaps into place, and suddenly, Bucky feels several pounds of weight hanging off his left shoulder, and a small buzzing pop in his mind as the electric systems from the arm connect to his brain.

He stares down at the arm, hanging limply at his side. When he looks back and forth between his left and his right arms, they look nearly identical. And the weight! It feels the exact same as his right arm. For the first time in 70 years, he’s standing up straight and he’s not being pulled to one side or the other.

He realizes he hasn’t seen himself look like this or feel like this since 1944. Tears well up in his eyes and he takes a deep breath.

He never thought he’d get a normal left arm back. It’s not his original arm, but it’s better than anything he could have hoped for.

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to stay focused. There will be time for crying later.

Tony steps forward and Bucky watches in amazement as he pulls down a tiny zipper that runs along the side of the arm. Bucky can see the metallic components of the arm inside. Tony peels the cover from the shoulder and down the arm, then tugs it off each finger. Bucky’s left with a dark metallic arm that resembles something from a sci-fi movie—all metal pieces, blinking lights and different colored wires.

“James, can you swing your arm back and forth? Slowly?” Martin asks.

He gently swings the arm a bit. He expects there to be some creaking, maybe some resistance, but there’s nothing. The arm moves back and forth like a well-oiled door hinge.

“Alright, now bend at the elbow.”

He does as instructed. To his surprise, he barely has to exert any pressure before the arm is flopping over. The hand nearly hits him in the face and he jerks back in surprise. “Uh—”

Tony grabs the arm and straightens it. He has a tool in his hand and he’s doing something to the elbow joint. When he releases the arm, he gestures at Bucky. “Again.”

Bucky tries it again and this time, the elbow bends much more slowly. “That’s better,” he says.

He repeats the process for his wrist—which has the opposite problem and the joint is so tightly set that he has to exert a lot of force to bend it, but after adjustments, that too moves naturally.

He tries out every part of the arm, rotating and bending the different parts of the limb. The hand takes the longest, since each finger joint needs to be tried out and adjusted one by one.

Once they’re done, Bucky uses the fingers to pluck at the edge of his shirt, pinching some of the fabric between two fingers, then releasing it, then repeating the process with two other fingers. He can hold the fabric between his thumb and any other finger, or even between two adjacent fingers. He can tug the fabric out from between the two fingers with no trouble, and there’s no damage to the shirt.

He realizes he could even do his counting technique with this new hand. What a thought!

He finally has an arm back instead of a weapon.

“This—this is amazing,” Bucky breathes. He looks up and sees Steve staring at his hands, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Stevie, are you seeing this?”

Steve nods. “I’m seeing it, Buck. I’m seeing it. It’s amazing.”

Then Martin has him pick up various objects and hold them or squeeze them in different ways to test the strength of his grip. Tony makes more adjustments whenever they find that the reaction is not equal to what his other hand is capable of.

Finally, both scientists seem happy with the arm’s calibration and Tony steps forward.

“Alright, pay attention. Removing the arm is simple,” he says and indicates two different places close to the anchor which need to be pressed simultaneously and then arm is unclicking.

Tony re-attaches it and has Bucky and Steve both practice removing it and re-attaching it. Bucky decides he doesn’t like the sensation of having the arm going on and off, but he keeps his complaints to himself. This is something they need to learn.

They bring the arm to the table and Tony shows them how to use the small tool to make adjustments to each of the joints. “You’ll find the more you use a specific joint, the looser it gets over time. You can just re-tighten it as needed. I emailed Rogers an instruction manual with all the info you need about the arm. Also—don’t lose the adjustment tool. I’m giving you a spare one, but that’s all the freebies you’re getting. They’re expensive and I will charge you if you need any other ones. The spare one is in the case. Finally, the arm covering—” he indicates the cover that’s lying on the table. “Go ahead and put it back on the arm.”

Steve is the first to try, then Bucky gives it a shot, but they quickly realize it’s not possible to do it one-handed while the arm is on the table and shifting around. So they attach the naked arm to Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky slowly pulls the cover back on, starting with each of the finger tips and then pulling it up until the end of it attaches to hooks within the anchor. The zipper is pulled up, and he’s back to having a normal looking arm. It takes him about 15 minutes to do it, but with practice he’ll get better.

“The covering is water resistant, but I wouldn’t risk getting the arm waterlogged. For showering, swimming etc, take the arm off. You can wash your hands and do dishes with it, but don’t submerge the entire arm. The most sensitive equipment is in your upper arm area, so shield that part from water. You can remove the cover and wash it with soap and water.”

Then Tony unzips the upper portion of the cover and indicates some soft padding that is on the inside of it. “The padding is mainly there to protect the arm components from damage if you bump into things, but if you ever find that your right arm is getting more and less muscular than this one, you can add more padding, or remove some of the padding to make the arms look similar. They’re all attached with velcro. Remove them when you wash the cover.”

“Lastly, I added a special compound to the outside of the skin covering so if you’re out in the sun a lot, the skin cover will actually tan. It’ll tan a lot faster than your other arm and a lot of heat isn’t good for it anyway, but at least you won’t be walking around with two drastically different colored arms in the summer. The coloring will fade over time, just like your right arm would.”

Bucky’s staring at the covering, trying to absorb everything Tony’s saying.

“In general, protect the arm as you would your other arm. Keep it away from extreme heat or extreme cold, don’t use it to lift cars or smash through walls, but it can do whatever your right arm can do.”

That’s when Martin steps back in. “As soon as you’re back in DC, I strongly recommend starting physiotherapy. I’ve emailed you a list of locations you can choose from. They will help you learn how to use the arm and build up your back, neck and shoulder muscles properly.”

Bucky nods. That’s definitely on his to-do list.

Bucky looks around, but he’s surprised to see that Tony had disappeared. He finishes listening to Martin’s instructions, then they escort the doctor to the door.

Finally, they’re alone.

Steve, Bucky and Bucky’s beautiful new arm.

Bucky’s looking down at himself. He can’t believe he has two functional, normal looking arms.

“Stevie…” he breathes. He looks up and sees Steve staring at him.

“Buck. Buck, you look—Jesus, you look—”

“Hey, Stevie? Come here.” Bucky opens his arms and walks towards Steve. Steve’s eyes are shiny with tears and one of them slides down his cheek. He steps up to Bucky and gently wraps his arms around his waist.

Bucky moves slowly, curling both arms inwards until they’re wrapped around Steve’s shoulders. He gradually tightens his grip.

It’s the first time he’s hugging Steve with both arms without worrying about his left arm hurting him. He props his chin on Steve’s shoulder and glances down at the two normal looking arms wrapped around Steve, who’s a solid, strong bulk within his arms.

He remembers having done this seventy years ago. It had felt almost exactly the same.

Steve turns his face and lets out a shaky breath into Bucky’s neck.

Bucky presses his lips together. “I have a normal arm back, Stevie. It’s not Hydra’s arm anymore.”

Bucky can feel him smile against his neck. “No, it’s just your arm now.”

“You know how huge this is? Stevie, this—this—Stevie, I have a normal arm.”

Steve squeezes him tighter. “I know, Buck. I know.”

They stay like that for a long while.

*             *             *

They catch a bus back to DC the next morning. They don’t see Tony before they leave. Pepper comes to say good bye to them, and Bucky sits down and hand-writes a thank-you letter to Tony which he leaves on the kitchen counter. He thanks him not just for the surgery and the arm, but his hospitality. He figures leaving the note there will allow Tony to read it or have it thrown away, it’ll be his choice.

When they’re back in Washington, Bucky immediately goes to show Alina his new arm, who is utterly gobsmacked at how realistic it looks. She gives them their mail that she’d been collecting, and Bucky’s thrilled when he finds that his social security number card had arrived while they’d been gone.

He has a new arm and a new social. He’s feeling so thrilled with himself and life in general, that when he and Steve finally get into their apartment, he pulls the duffle bag out of Steve’s hand, drops it to the floor and pulls him into his bedroom to celebrate properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapters! At this point, we are roughly three-quarters of the way done with the story.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello wonderful people! Two chapters again - the first one continues focusing on Bucky and the second one will switch the focus back to Steve.

The next day, Bucky sits down at the table with his phone and the laptop and starts making phone calls. First he calls Mandeep and makes a new appointment, then he calls Jemisha’s secretary and confirms that his Thursday appointment is still on their schedule. Then he starts going through the list of physiotherapy centers that Martin had sent him and starts researching them.

He’s narrowed it down to two centers and after they eat lunch, they jump on the bus and visit both of them. He’d called ahead and they’re met by very nice people at both places and are shown the various rooms where therapy takes place and also discuss costs and appointment availabilities.

Bucky ends up picking the second place and he makes an appointment right away.

On their way home, Bucky shots Steve a wry grin. “My life is just one big medical appointment these days, huh? I’m gonna run out of days of the week soon.”

Steve laughs. “It’s good, Buck. You know it is. You’ve already seen the benefits.”

“Oh, I know. I just think it’s funny.”

Steve chuckles and gets up to offer his seat to an elderly man coming down the bus aisle.

When they get home, they get changed and Steve heads to the table to start working on the art class project that he’d last touched a week ago.

While Bucky’s pulling on his sweatpants, he looks down at the long sleeved shirt he’s wearing and decides it’s comfortable enough to keep on….

….then he realizes that he could also wear a short sleeved shirt if he really wanted to….

He hesitates for a moment, then he’s across the hall and rummaging through Steve’s closet. He takes off his own shirt and pulls one of Steve’s short sleeved shirts on.

He smooths it down and goes to look at himself in Steve’s mirror.

He lets both arms hang loose at his side and he stares in shock at his reflection. From across the room, it looks like he has two normal arms.

He turns to each side, inspecting his reflection. He finds he likes what he sees.

He hurries out of Steve’s room. “Hey, Stevie!”

“Yeah?” Steve doesn’t look up from his sketchpad.

Bucky stands by the table and rolls his eyes. “Look up, Rogers!”

Steve finishes the line he’s drawing, then glances at Bucky. Bucky can see exactly when he registers what he’s seeing because the double-take Steve does is hilarious.

“Jesus, Barnes! Look at you!”

Bucky grins. “Yeah, look at me! Think it’s obvious that the arm’s fake?”

“No. Not at all. Unless somebody’s looking at it closely, they won’t be able to tell.”

Bucky bites his lip. “So you think it’s okay to go out like this?”

Steve grins. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Do _you_ think it’s okay to go out like that?”

Bucky mirrors his grin. “I wanna try. But I’m nervous. It’s stupid, I know. But I’m nervous.”

Steve gets up from the table and heads straight for him, giving him a hard kiss. “It’s not stupid. I didn’t mean we gotta go outside right now.”

Bucky pulls Steve closer and wraps his arms around him. “But what if I wanna go outside?”

“Now?”

“Yeah. Will you hold my hand?”

Steve pulls back and gives him a much softer kiss. “It would be an honor to stroll down the sidewalk holding your hand, James Barnes,” he whispers against his lips.

Bucky grins. “Okay. Let me brush my hair and then we’ll go.”

*             *             *

He visits Mandeep and gets more caps attached. He’s thrilled when she determines that his mouth has healed better than anticipated so she can attach more caps than planned.

He’s only missing a few more teeth, and many of the leftovers will be part of one bridge.

“If things go well, maybe next appointment we’ll give you all the leftover teeth.”

Bucky blinks at her. It’s a huge sign of his progress that he’s having this conversation right after she’s turned off the machines and he’s still flat on his back on the chair.

“Seriously? Next appointment is the last?”

She gives him a look and pulls the mask off her face. “I said maybe. Don’t get too excited.”

He grins and Steve pokes him in the side. “She said don’t get too excited, Barnes.”

“Both of you are pessimists, that’s the problem.”

But he obsessively babies his mouth for the next month, not eating anything sharp or hard that could cause any damage to the remaining implant spots.

“Steve, I’m gonna wanna eat corn on the cob as soon as we get home from Mandeep’s next month.”

“Seriously? Corn on the cob? You don’t wanna start out with something easier?”

“I haven’t eaten corn on the cob for almost a year, Rogers.”

Steve snorts. “You’ve been sadly deprived. How you’ve survived is beyond me.”

“Shut your mouth, punk. Put corn on the shopping list.”

*             *             *

Mondays become physiotherapy days. Bucky takes the bus to the center, does his exercises for a few hours and then comes back home.

They start out doing very simple exercises, mainly focusing on his core strength and doing basic movements with the prosthetic. He hasn’t done very much upper body exercising for months so even basic exercises leave him sore and tired. But the soreness fades within a few hours and he’s pleased that he isn’t experiencing any pain in his back, shoulders or neck.

The big lesson he’s taught right away is that he needs to use both arms as equally as possible, especially when it comes to physically straining activities.

He practices at home as much as he can. He fills the laundry basket with various items and carries it around the apartment, holding it with both arms or keeping it propped against his hip and holding it with one arm, then switching to the other side. He pushes the couch back and forth and carries chairs around the apartment.

When his core strength has built up sufficiently, the therapist has him focus on more detailed tasks. He has to pick up various objects with his left hand and carry them around while keeping a normal grasp on them. It becomes difficult when he’s holding his hand downwards and needs to tighten his grip on the object to keep it from falling. He starts with easy, round objects and gradually works his way up to harder ones, like books with shiny, slippery covers. It’s tempting to use a tight grip to ensure the object doesn’t fall, but Bucky immediately starts noticing the tension that starts building up in his neck. He can’t feel the object in his hand so it’s hard to judge how hard to grasp it, but through hours of practice, he starts getting better. A big highlight is when he can carry pieces of fruit in his left hand without crushing or even bruising any of them.

Doing fine, detailed work is very difficult with the left arm. It takes tremendous effort to learn how to make it part of his routine again after not having used his left arm very often over the past seventy years.

One morning he’s pulling a shirt on while using both arms and things are not going well. He can get dressed just fine with one arm—he’s had enough practice by now—but using the new arm turns it into a whole new activity. This particular morning, the prosthetic keeps bending when it should be straight, and remains straight when it should be bending. Bucky knows it’s because he’s not paying attention but he lets his frustration get the better of him and ends up fighting with the shirt, yanking it around and trying to pull it on by sheer force, which just makes it worse.

Finally, he wrestles it off and throws the shirt at the far wall. He stays on his bed, glaring through his open door until Steve appears. Steve looks between Bucky and the shirt but stays by the door.

“You want help or you want me to leave you alone?”

Bucky drops his gaze to the floor. “Stupid shirt.”

“Yes, it is.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else, just stays by the door. Bucky hasn’t barked at him to go away and hasn’t slammed his door so Steve just gives him some time.

Finally, Bucky sighs. “Help me get the shirt on, please,” he mumbles.

Steve retrieves it from the floor and holds it above Bucky’s head. He lifts both arms up and Steve pulls the shirt down. In seconds, the task is done.

Bucky glares at the floor, still feeling angry at himself.

Steve gently pulls Bucky forward so his face is pressed to Steve’s stomach. He rubs Bucky’s back, letting him calm down.

“Stupid shirt,” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s shirt. He really means thank you.

“It sure is. But we defeated it anyway.” That means ‘you’re welcome, no problem’.

Bucky grunts.

It gets better as time goes on, but there are many tough days. When they’re washing dishes one evening and Steve notices Bucky’s only using his prosthetic to hold the dishes instead of alternating which hand holds and which hand washes, he elbows him in the side.

“Hey, switch,” he says.

Bucky’s sore from physio and still feeling fragile from today’s therapy appointment with Jemisha so he’s in no mood for Steve telling him what to do.

“Shut up, Rogers.”

He makes a grab for the next plate with his left hand but Steve pulls it out of reach.

“You’ve been washing everything with the right hand. You know you’re supposed to switch, Buck.”

Jesus. Bucky clenches his jaw and takes a breath, ready to let Steve know that his arms are none of Steve’s business, but Steve must have seen the look on his face.

“Okay. Sorry, Buck. Sorry. Not my business. You keep doing it the way you were doing it. Or you can stop. I can finish on my own.”

That makes him want to cry. “Stevie, I’m sorry I’m always in such a snit these days.”

Steve lowers the plate. “You’re not always in a snit. This is new and it’s hard, that’s all. It’ll get better, Buck.”

The room is silent except for the running water from the faucet.

Bucky straightens. “Can you help me? I don’t wanna break anything.”

“Sure.”

Steve steps behind Bucky and curls his right arm around his waist and wraps his left hand around the prosthetic’s wrist. Bucky slowly picks up the plate Steve had discarded and gently tightens his grasp on it. He brings it to the sink and transfers it to his right hand, then picks up the sponge with the left. Together, they start washing the plate, Steve gently correcting Bucky’s movements as they go.

After every dish, Steve presses a kiss to Bucky’s cheek and murmurs “Good job, Buck.”

Other days seem to be filled with nothing but successes. Bucky loves those days.

When he comes home with the assignment of having to use a pencil with his left hand, Steve brings out his colored pencils and makes some quick sketches of large objects that Bucky can color in. Not wanting to frustrate him, Steve starts out with large, undetailed images that just require large swaths of uniform color. As Bucky gets more proficient with the left hand, he gradually starts requesting more detailed drawings that require a lot more coordination to color in.

They hang the pictures on the fridge, putting dates on each of them so they can see Bucky’s progress as the weeks go by.

*             *             *

Bucky holds his breath as Mandeep pokes around. She’s got the usual frown on her face but he and Steve are on pins and needles, waiting for her verdict. Bucky can’t believe it’s been nearly a year since he first sat in this chair.

Finally, she leans back, looks at both of them, then breaks out in a big smile.

“We’ll finish today,” she says.

Bucky is so excited he can barely keep still on the chair. She laughs when she sees how Bucky’s practically vibrating and Steve is fidgeting and grinning.

When the last caps are in place, Mandeep takes some time double checking everything, then asks Bucky to run his tongue over all of the caps to check if anything is loose or seems out of place.

All Bucky can feel when he moves his tongue around is wonderful rows of teeth. No holes, no pain, no jagged edges. Just walls of beautiful, smooth, strong teeth.

“It’s perfect, Mandeep.”

She smiles and presses the button to raise his chair. “Now, I’m sorry if you thought our journey together is over, but it’s not. I want to see you in 3 months for a check-up, then 3 months after that and from then on every 6 months. Understood?”

Bucky nods. “Of course! You’re part of the family, Mandeep.” Then he grins. “It’ll be tough not seeing you every month, but I’ll survive somehow.”

She rolls his eyes at him and turns off the light above him.

After Bucky climbs out of the chair, they all head to the front and Bucky pays with his credit card. Once they have a copy of the paperwork, Bucky asks Mandeep if he can give her a hug.

“Of course, James.” She comes out from behind the counter and Bucky pulls her into a hug. He’s thrilled that he can wrap both his arms around her pretty quickly and with confidence. Practicing hugging with Steve was one of the easiest and most enjoyable homework assignments he’s had.

She rubs his back and he breathes in that medical smell that he remembers had bothered him so much when he had first come here. Now it reminds him of Mandeep and success.

“Thank you, Mandeep. Every time I chew on something big or crunchy, I’ll be thinking of you.”

She laughs. “Thank you, James. I hope you will be happy with the new teeth.”

“Oh, I will be. Thank you.”

They head home, and as promised, Steve makes them corn on the cob. Bucky grins so hard when he takes the first satisfying bite that butter and bits of corn are running down his chin. He couldn’t care less that he’s making a mess. He happily munches through two cobs, pulverizing the corn.

“Stevie, this is the best corn I’ve eaten in my life,” he declares through a mouthful.

He’s so focused on the corn that he doesn’t even notice that Steve’s pulled his phone out and has filmed the entire thing.

“Hey! You better not send that to people. I look like a pig.”

Steve smiles. “You look happy, Buck.”

Bucky gets up from the table and grabs for Steve, who squawks when he sees Bucky’s butter coated hands coming for him, but Bucky’s faster and pulls Steve to him for a big, buttery kiss.

He reaches over and picks up the phone that had fallen to the table and turns it around so it’s recording them.

“This is how sneaky people are punished. They get covered in butter and half eaten corn.”

He holds the phone and covers Steve’s face with kisses. Steve’s laughing and making some effort at fending Bucky off, but Bucky has a new plan and crawls onto his lap. He turns off the phone and drops it on the table, then makes himself more comfortable on Steve’s lap. He sucks buttery kisses on Steve’s neck and runs his right hand down Steve’s chest towards his groin.

Steve’s laughter quickly fades and his breath hitches.

“You done eating dinner, Rogers?” Bucky asks, rubbing Steve through his jeans.

“Oh, definitely,” Steve breathes out.

Bucky grins. “Good. I was thinking we haven’t practiced much with the new hand today.”

“What were you thinking of doing with it?”

Bucky pretends to consider it. “Would you be willing to contribute the use of your nipples for some manual dexterity training?”

Steve flushes and Bucky feels his cock twitch. “Oh, I can definitely do that.”

*             *             *

A few weeks later, things are going really well. Since a huge part of that success is due to Jemisha Williams, so Bucky thinks it’s high time he get her a thank-you present.

It takes him several days of thinking and researching, but Bucky finally has the perfect present for her. He had asked Alina for assistance and she had driven him to numerous flower shops in the area until they found what he was looking for. She also offered to drive him to his therapy appointment, since the present was a bit cumbersome and Bucky didn’t feel like struggling on the bus with it.

Bucky manages to get out of the car, wave good bye to Alina and make his way into Jemisha’s building without damaging his present.

He greets Jemisha’s secretary and has a seat in the waiting area. A few minutes go by, which he spends practicing leafing through a magazine using different fingers of his left hand.

“Hello, James!”

He looks up and sees Jemisha waving at him from the doorway of the therapy room.

“Hello, Jemisha!” He gets up and carefully picks up his present. He can’t help but grin as he walks towards her, seeing her eyes widen.

“What’s this?”

“A present.” He holds it out towards her. She takes it from him and stares at it, smiling.

“Oh, James, you don’t have to get me presents, you know that!”

“I know. I wanted to.”

She leads them into the room and James shuts the door behind him as she puts the bamboo plant by the window.

Bucky is thrilled when he sees the way she fusses with the plant, turning it in various directions to see which position suits it best.

“So you like it?”

“I love it. It’s beautiful! Thank you.” She comes to sit down in her usual seat and Bucky drops onto the couch.

“Is there a specific reason for the gift?”

James laughs. “There are about a million specific reasons. My new arm, my new teeth, my general everything is a thousand times better than it was when I started coming to see you, doc.”

She smiles softly. “You’re the one who did the work, James, I just helped give you nudges in the right direction and some advice along the way.”

“That’s exactly why I picked the bamboo. I wanted to find something that represents strength, confidence, you know, the things you teach people. Most flowers are so flimsy, but the bamboo is nice and strong. That’s how I feel these days, and a huge part of that is thanks to you.”

She presses her lips together and her eyes are soft. She swallows and clears her throat. “Thank you, James. That means a lot. Really.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He leans back on the couch and looks out the window at the sunshine while Jemisha gets herself focused again.

Once she has her clipboard and pen ready, she turns her full attention on him. “Alright, did you have anything specific you wanted to discuss today?”

Bucky frowns. “Actually, yes. It’s not about me, it’s about Steve. Is that okay?”

She nods. “As long as it concerns your relationship with him, yes. But I hesitate to discuss personal specifics about somebody else when they’re not here.”

“No, no, it’s got to do with our relationship. I think—I think Steve’s stuck in neutral again.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He was moving forward for a while, before we started working on my teeth. He was exploring new things and was starting to put his foot on the gas pedal, but then the situation with my teeth turned into a whole big thing, and then my arm, and basically he’s back to neutral.”

“He wanted to support you a hundred percent during those difficult times.”

“Yeah. And I couldn’t have done any of those things without him. Or maybe I could have, but it would have definitely taken me much longer. Anyway, I’m in a good enough place now that I don’t need him to fully focus on me anymore. I want him to focus on him, but I don’t know how to do that without him getting mad.”

“You think he’ll misinterpret your desire that he move forward in his own life?”

Bucky chuckles. “Oh, I know he will. He’ll come up with all sorts of crazy reasons why I’m pushing him to move forward and I don’t want the whole thing to become a mess.”

She nods. “It might be best to nudge instead of push in this situation.”

“How do I nudge? I know how to push—Rogers and I have been doing that all our lives. But I don’t know how to nudge.”

Jemisha smiles. “Build up his confidence. Find subtle ways for him to be in charge of various situations—but they shouldn’t be situations where he’s helping you. He knows he’s a good caregiver and supporter, I think Steve needs more confidence in his abilities to be a good friend and partner.”

Bucky feels completely lost. “How do I do that?”

“Right now Steve is fully focused on fulfilling a caregiver role. You need to have him focus on fulfilling the roles of friend and partner instead. When he gets more confident in those roles, he’ll naturally start looking outside of your relationship and start feeling more confident about engaging with the rest of the world. Focus on tasks where you’re interacting as friends and partners.”

He can do that.

“And James? Even though nudging is good, there’s nothing wrong with giving a few pushes here and there. Just make sure you let Steve know you’re about to push and in what direction you’re about to push. If somebody isn’t taken by surprise by it, they’re less likely to lash out.”


	28. Chapter 28

Bucky’s sitting on the couch with the computer on his lap. He’s working on one of the typing programs that his physiotherapist had instructed him to use. Learning how to type with two hands is a big goal on Bucky’s list so he tries to practice a little bit each day.

He finishes the current typing test and is pleased to see he typed six words per minute faster than yesterday.

“Stevie! Look!” He tilts the computer and Steve tears his eyes off the baseball game to see.

“Wow—Buck, that’s faster than yesterday, isn’t it?”

Bucky nods, full of pride. “Yup, six WPM faster.”

Steve leans over and kisses his forehead. “Good for you, buddy! That’s amazing!”

Feeling very pleased with himself, Bucky shuts down the program and then opens an internet browser. Since he finished his own homework for the day, it’s time to work on Steve’s homework. Not that Steve knows he has any homework, but that’s okay. Bucky will start it for him.

He finds the right website quickly and searches through the calendar for a home game that has a good opponent team and is being played on a day they’re both available.

“Hey, Rogers?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna go see the Nationals play the Mets next Friday?”

Steve waves a hand at the television. “The recorder’s set, don’t worry.”

Bucky sighs. Oh, this man. “I said ‘go see’ not ‘sit and watch’.”

Steve glances at him. “What?”

Bucky grabs the television remote—with his left hand, it’s one of his on-going homework assignments—and carefully presses the pause button. He turns the computer so Steve can see the calendar on the Nationals website. “I wanna go watch a game. Next Friday would be good for both of us and the Nats are playing the Mets. That should be a good game, huh?”

Steve stares at the calendar. Then a huge grin spreads over his face. “You wanna go watch a baseball game, Buck?”

“Yeah. Do you?”

Steve’s grin grows even bigger. “Do I ever! I can’t believe it didn’t occur to us before!” He pokes Bucky in the side. “Hurry up and buy the tickets before they’re all gone!”

“Yeah, yeah, quit poking. I’m doing it.”

Steve leans over Bucky’s shoulder and patiently watches him click on the tickets and type in all the relevant information. They both know it would be faster for Steve to do the typing, but they try to never avoid a situation where Bucky can practice using his new arm. It takes Bucky a while to get through all the steps, but he finally pokes Steve and has him check his email on his phone, where there are two beautiful tickets waiting for them.

They spend the rest of the week grinning at each other at every available opportunity. Friday can’t come soon enough.

*             *             *

The baseball game is a nostalgic wonder and an amazing new experience at the same time. They’d spoiled themselves and purchased tickets close to the field, which already made the whole thing vastly different from their usual nose bleed seats high up in the stands.

But the game is still the same as it had been seventy years ago. Sure, there are some new rules and the uniforms have changed somewhat, but the crisp white lines of the diamond and the crack of a bat are still the same.

The game is fantastic but Bucky enjoys watching Steve more than the game itself.

The man is practically glowing. He doesn’t stop smiling from the time they leave home until he falls asleep in Bucky’s bed that night. He claps and cheers and complains and yells louder than anybody in their section.

As a test, Bucky closes his eyes—and suddenly, he’s back in Brooklyn and it’s 1941. People are cheering around him, he hears the crack of the bat connecting with the ball, the smell of hot dogs and sweaty people is everywhere, and best of all, Steve Rogers is cheering and yelling in his ear as if he’s the one coaching the team.

 He opens his eyes and blinks hard, his eyes a bit wet. He sees the enormous screen across the field from him showing a replay of the hit that had just taken place and the Washington Nationals logo is displayed proudly beside it. Brooklyn quickly disappears from his thoughts, but that’s okay. He’s not sad to be making new baseball memories in his new home with his new team.

But the best part is that the man beside him may be a head taller and a hundred pounds heavier than he had been in his memories, but aside from that, his passion is exactly the same.

Steve is currently standing up and yelling at the umpire. The woman sitting in front of them is also up and giving the field a rude hand gesture. Then she turns to Steve and they immediately identify kindred spirits in the other and start complaining about the utter unfairness of the current call.

The woman is accompanied by a small child, who turns around and gives Bucky an embarrassed grimace. Bucky grins and shrugs his shoulders. He’s used to it. The kid will have to learn to live with it too.

When Steve is sitting down again, Bucky slings his left arm around him and pulls him close. He desperately wants to kiss him but he doesn’t dare do it in front of a stadium full of people. Instead, he gently squeezes Steve’s shoulder with his new hand.

“I love you, you crazy old man. You know that, right?” Bucky whispers into his ear.

Steve grins and squeezes his knee. “Yeah, I know. Hey, Barnes?”

“Yeah?”

“This was a really good idea.”

“Yeah? I couldn’t tell. You’ve been so subdued and quiet the whole time. I really wasn’t sure if you’re having—”

Steve laughs and grabs the last bit of his hot dog and crams it into Bucky’s mouth. “Shut your mouth, Barnes.”

Bucky chews the hotdog to mush and then deliberately yawns in Steve’s face. He hasn’t pulled that particular move since they were about ten years old, but it still has the desired effect. Steve immediately makes a disgusted face and jerks back, just like Bucky knew he would.

Bucky closes his mouth and finishes chewing, grinning in triumph.

“You’re a jerk, James Buchanan Barnes, and a disgusting one too. Who the hell does that past the age of twelve? Christ!” Steve punches him in the left shoulder, then quickly makes a face when he realizes that he punched the left arm and not the right one. There is some padding on the shoulder but not much.

Bucky laughs so hard he’s in tears, but he grabs Steve’s hand and gives it a discreet kiss.

“There. All better?” he asks, still chuckling.

Steve glares at him and goes back to watching the game, but Bucky can tell he’s trying to smother a smile. So Bucky leans back in his chair, drapes his left arm along the back of Steve’s chair the same way he used to do in Brooklyn during games and they go back to watching the game.

The next day, Steve purchases season tickets for both of them and gets on the phone with Sam—also a season ticketholder—to plan out which game they should attend next.

Bucky’s thrilled when Steve orders the tickets and does the planning without any prompting.

Steve has put his foot back on the gas pedal and is slowly pushing down on it.

*             *             *

He carefully does one more pass with the toothbrush, doing his best not to move his mouth, but instead letting his left hand and arm do more of the work. He already brushed his teeth with his right hand, but he likes to do another pass with his left hand for the practice.

When he’s done, he spits, rinses and leans towards the mirror. He grins at himself, staring at his beautiful teeth. He could probably stand there all day, staring at his teeth and be perfectly content.

Steve passes the bathroom, pushing the vacuum cleaner in front of him. He snorts loudly when he sees what Bucky’s doing. “You’re hilarious, Buck,” he calls over the noise of the vacuum.

“I know,” Bucky calls back, still admiring his teeth from all angles.

Once he’s satisfied, he starts getting ready to shave. Once he’s slathered shaving cream on and has the razor ready, he stops, staring down at the razor clutched in his right hand.

He pokes his head out of the bathroom, checking to see where Steve is. He sees the cord of the vacuum running into his bedroom, so he figures he has some time.

He transfers the razor to his left hand.

Bucky takes a deep breath and wraps his right hand around the left hand’s wrist to act as a guide. He tightens the new hand’s grip on the razor and slowly starts pulling the razor down his cheek.

At first he’s not using enough pressure, so he gently presses a bit harder with the fake hand and does a few more strokes. He carefully does both of his cheeks and even manages a few strokes where he releases his guiding grip.

Pleased with himself, he switches the razor to his right hand and finishes shaving the more difficult portions of his face and neck.

He rinses out the razor, finishes up in the bathroom and follows the vacuum cord into his bedroom.

“Hey, Rogers!” he calls over the noise.

Steve looks up. “Yeah?”

“I shaved half of my face with my left hand!”

A big smile appears on Steve’s face. “That’s great, Buck!”

Bucky beams with pride, then heads back into the bathroom. The place could use some cleaning and its good practice for his left arm. He crouches down and rummages around below the sink, pulling out the appropriate cleaners and sponges.

Doing household chores is a new activity that his physiotherapist had only recently added to his list of allowable activities for his new arm. Scrubbing a sink or using a vacuum require a lot more strength than washing dishes so it isn’t something he had been allowed to do right away. He hasn’t been happy leaving the harder chores for Steve, but now that he has the go-ahead, he’s determined to become proficient at them so Steve will stop looking so concerned every time he makes noise about helping with chores.

He switches the sponge from one hand to the other and moves slowly and methodically. It takes him longer than it would if he would only use his right hand, but he continues. Steve reminds him all the time: nobody’s sitting beside him with a stopwatch. He can take all the time he wants.

*             *             *

When he’s at physiotherapy that week, he overhears one of the trainers talking about planning a weekend road trip for her family.

He listens as he finishes doing his set of exercises and an idea starts growing in his mind. He’s been searching for new ways to get Steve out of the apartment, and this seems like a great idea.

They hadn’t gone on any trips except to New York to see Tony, and honestly Bucky has no desire to leave the comfort of their home for a long trip, but a weekend trip sounds like a good idea.

On his way home on the bus, Bucky decides that it would be even nicer if they take their bikes.

Once he gets home, he gets on the computer and starts researching. They live in the heart of tourist central so they’re actually surrounded by very nice bed and breakfasts and hotels, but Bucky wants to turn this into an actual trip, so he starts looking at places further away.

He starts formulating his plan, which is Phase 1.

Phase 2 involves more biking practice.

For the next several weeks, whenever the weather is nice and both of them have some free time, they make themselves something for lunch and head out on their bikes. Steve starts getting suspicious when he realizes that Bucky’s actually timing them and keeping track of the distance that they travel.

They’ve stopped at a bench for lunch and Bucky’s checking the time, calculating how long they have been biking for and writing it in the little notebook he brings with him.

Steve digs their plastic lunch containers out of his backpack and stares at him writing. “You training for a marathon, Buck?”

“Maybe.”

“Or you planning on joining a biking club?”

“Maybe.”

“Are you gonna answer ‘maybe’ to every single one of my questions?”

Bucky grins. “Maybe.” He grabs Steve’s bag from him and digs out bottles of water and their cutlery and makes himself comfortable on the bench.

“So you’re not gonna tell me?”

He opens his lunch container and digs in, munching happily. “Nope. There, that was a new answer. You should be thrilled with it. Even if you’re not, it’s the only one you’re getting. Now, sit and eat and enjoy the beautiful sunshine.”

The hardest part of being on the bike for longer periods is the buildup of tension in his upper back from having the prosthetic arm braced against the handlebars. He rests his arm as often as he can, but he’s determined not to be the weak link on this mission, so he starts focusing on strengthening his back muscles even more.

He always does several sets on the rowing machine at physiotherapy and does push ups at home.

After several weeks of preparation, he decides he’s ready to break the news to Steve.

Well, part of the news. He wants most of it to be a surprise.

“So, Rogers?”

“So, Barnes?”

“You busy this weekend?”

“No. Why?”

“Wanna go for a long bike ride?”

Steve looks up from his sketch pad on the table. “What’s your definition of a long bike ride?”

Bucky grins. “Most of the day?”

Steve blinks. “Alright. Where are we going?”

“That’s a surprise.”

Steve narrows his eyes and taps his pencil against the table. He purses his lips. “You planned this.”

Bucky grins, not bothering to deny it.

Steve points his pencil at him. “This is why you’ve been timing our bike trips!”

“I ain’t admitting to or denying anything.”

“Alright, fine. Be mysterious. What do I have to pack?”

“Don’t you worry about packing, I’ll take care of it. I’ll make us lunch too, so you don’t have to do anything. Just be ready to go on Saturday morning.”

*             *             *

That Saturday Bucky pushes Steve into the kitchen while he packs their bags, Steve puts Bucky’s hair into a low ponytail with two elastics to keep it in place, they sling on the backpacks that Bucky had packed, lock up and head out. Bucky has the route memorized and he leads them down familiar streets and trails.

They ride side by side when the roads are empty and Steve slides in behind Bucky whenever there’s more traffic. Bucky has deliberately mapped out a nice scenic route and they take in the beautiful weather and view as they go.

They take breaks every few hours to stretch and have something to eat. After a few hours, they find themselves in completely new surroundings, none of their previous bike trips having taken them this far out of DC.

They’ve climbed up a sizable hill and have stopped to catch their breath and admire the scenery at a view point at the top. They’ve taken off their helmets and Bucky’s drinking water and rotating his left shoulder while Steve takes pictures of the scenery with his phone.

Bucky puts his water bottle away and snatches the phone out of Steve’s hand. “Go stand by the edge, punk,” he says, pointing.

Steve dutifully goes to stand where instructed and Bucky takes a picture of him. Then Steve makes a grabbing motion for the phone. “Your turn.”

Bucky makes a face. “My hair’s a disaster.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You and your hair, Barnes. Jesus Christ. Come here.”

He pulls the elastics out of Bucky’s hair and finger combs his hair, then ties it up again. “There. That’s as good as it’s gonna get.”

Bucky reaches up and checks to make sure there aren’t any bumps and no strands have been missed. Satisfied, he motions for them to switch places. He puts a big smile on his face and waits while Steve takes a picture of him.

“Excuse me?”

Steve turns and sees a man approaching them, coming from the direction of a motorhome that had pulled into viewpoint.

“Yes?”

“Would you like me to take a picture of both of you together?” the man asks, gesturing at them.

“Sure!” Bucky calls over. Steve hands the man his phone and goes to stand by Bucky. They sling their arms over each other’s shoulders and grin in the direction of the phone.

“Perfect!” the man calls over, giving them a thumbs up once he’s done taking the pictures and holds the phone towards them. “All done!”

“Thank you so much,” Steve says, jogging over to take the phone back. He nods towards the motorhome. “Did you want me to take a picture of you with your family?”

The man lit up. “Sure! That’d be great!” He calls towards the motorhome and two small children and an elderly man and woman step out.

*             *             *

It takes most of the day to reach the bed and breakfast that Bucky has picked out. He steers them along the water and scans street signs until he finds what he’s looking for.

They pull up in front of the old building and get off their bikes. Steve is staring around.

“Where the hell are we, Buck?”

Bucky laughs. “We’re in Maryland. We have been for a while now.” Bucky gestures at the building behind him. “Welcome to your surprise. We have dinner reservations at a restaurant down the street, then we get to spend the night in this wonderful place, which also includes breakfast. Then tomorrow we’ll bike back home, but along a different route.”

Steve’s grinning. “Oh, this is amazing!” He reaches out to grab Bucky, but Bucky steps out of his reach. “Not yet, Rogers. If you touch me now, I’ll be having my wicked way with you right here on the sidewalk and I think we’d both get arrested and that’ll be a terrible waste of my surprise. So just wait until the time is right.”

So Steve reluctantly stays with the bikes while Bucky runs inside to check in and asks where they can keep their bikes.

Once the bikes are stored away, they drop off their backpacks in their room, freshen up and change into non-biking clothes. Bucky happily pulls the hair elastic out of his hair and shakes it loose. He digs his comb out of his bag and brushes it until it’s presentable. He’s not going to dinner with his hair looking like a bird’s nest.

Once he’s done, Steve starts grabbing for Bucky again, but Bucky again fends him off.

“Not yet!” he laughs, smacking Steve on the butt. “We have dinner reservations at this great seafood restaurant down the street. We gotta hurry up and get there. But once we’re back here, I promise, you get to put your hands wherever you want.”

Steve makes a face, but Bucky had seen him perk up at the mention of eating, so he herds him out and down the block to the restaurant.

The food is really good and they get a table outside right by the water. They ask their waitress to take a picture of the two of them at their table, holding lobster claws in their hands and send it to Sam and Natasha.

Sam replies with a thumbs up emoji and then a long line of smiling faces. Natasha’s doing an assignment so they’re not surprised when she doesn’t reply.

Once they’re back in their cozy little room, Bucky’s locking the door when he finds himself pressed flat against it, Steve pressed up against him.

Bucky laughs, surprised and delighted. It’s something he hasn’t mentioned to Jemisha, but he’s noticed that Steve rarely takes the initiative when it comes to physical intimacy between them. At first Bucky thought Steve was respecting what he thinks are Bucky’s boundaries, so he’s done his best to show Steve that he’s okay with Steve taking a bit more control during their intimate moments, but Steve has always seemed reluctant. The more Bucky thought about it, the more he realizes it might be part of the same confidence problem that Jemisha pointed out.

So Bucky’s thrilled that the events of the day have made Steve feel good enough to take the reins a bit.

Steve’s hands are everywhere and he’s kissing and nibbling Bucky’s neck while his hands slide under Bucky’s shirt to rub across his chest.

“Clothes off, Barnes,” Steve mumbles into his neck.

Bucky laughs. “I’m practically part of the door here, I can’t be doing any undressing.”

Steve’s hand scrambles along the hem of Bucky’s shirt and yanks it over his head, then fumbles with the buttons and zipper on his pants, shoving them open and rubbing Bucky through his underwear.

“Oh, Jesus,” Bucky breathes out, bracing himself against the door.

Steve chuckles into his ear and then steps back to yank Bucky’s pants and underwear all the way down. He had obviously forgotten about Bucky’s shoes and he lets out a curse. Bucky laughs and bats away his hands and gets rid of the rest of his clothes himself.

Then he turns around and yanks at Steve’s shirt. “Geez, catch up, Rogers! You’re behind.”

Steve’s eyes are dark with arousal and he yanks off his clothes before pushing Bucky towards the bed. Bucky lets himself fall backwards and sprawls on the covers.

“Tell me you brought lube,” Steve says.

Bucky grins. “Obviously I brought lube. Check my bag.”

Steve digs through it and pulls out the tube, then crawls onto the bed and drapes himself over Bucky and kisses him.

Bucky hooks a leg over Steve and pulls him closer, tangling his tongue with Steve’s.

They kiss until they’re both flushed, out of breath and hard enough to pound nails.

“Can I fuck you, Buck?” Steve asks between kisses.

Bucky groans. “Yes, yes, yes. A thousand times yes. But only if you hurry up about it.”

Steve laughs and reluctantly rolls off him to fumble with the lube. Bucky lies back and sighs softly when he feels Steve’s fingers breach him. While he’s stretching him, Steve leans down and sucks on the tip of Bucky’s cock.

“Christ, Rogers! Oh, hot damn,” Bucky gasps out, rocking himself on Steve’s fingers.

Once Bucky tells him he’s ready, Steve pulls out his fingers. “Okay, switch up,” Steve says, stroking his cock with a fistful of lube.

Bucky knows Steve’s expecting him to change spots with Steve so Bucky can be on top.

But right now, all he wants is to lie here and let Steve continue running the show.

“I’m okay like this,” he says.

Steve pauses and looks down at him, concern clear on his face. “Buck—”

Bucky smiles. “I promise, Stevie, I’m okay. This is okay.”

Steve looks reluctant but Bucky curls a leg around his waist and starts reeling him in. “Come on, Rogers. You said you wanted to fuck me. Don’t tell me you were just teasing…”

Steve slowly shuffles closer and Bucky wraps both legs around Steve’s waist. Steve is still looking worried.

“Buck if—”

“If I ain’t okay, I’ll say something. But anyway, you’ll know it before me. I know you will. And I know you’ll handle it the right way. I ain’t worried.”

Steve slowly lines up and slides into him, thrusting gently and keeping himself upright. Bucky sighs happily and reaches up to wrap his arms around Steve’s neck. “Come down here, sweetheart.”

Steve gradually bends down, bracing his arms on either side of Bucky’s head and meeting his lips for a kiss. Bucky tightens his grip around him with his legs and clenches his ass a bit.

Steve lets out a surprised gasp and his thrusts start picking up speed. When it’s clear that Bucky’s okay, Steve lets himself go and starts fucking him hard and deep, Bucky hanging onto him and letting Steve run the show.

Steve gets more comfortable calling the shots and slows down whenever one of them starts getting too close to coming and changes up his angle so he’s pounding against Bucky’s prostate for several hard thrusts before moving off again.

Bucky loses track of time and all higher brain functions while Steve winds him up and down over and over again.

Finally even Steve’s super soldier strength started wearing thin and Bucky can feel his arms starting to tremble and his thrusts losing some strength.

“Touch yourself, Buck,” he gasps out, face flushed and sweating and eyes dark.

Bucky reaches down and strokes his cock while Steve pounds his prostate, sending flares of pleasure flying through his body. Finally, he’s coming.

Steve fucks him through it and starts coming before Bucky’s done, emptying himself into Bucky with low groans.

He has enough strength to pull out and collapse beside Bucky, but neither of them can do anything except lie there and try to catch their breaths for long minutes.

“Hot damn, Stevie. That—that was—that—yeah.”

“Uh huh,” Steve mumbles in reply.

After a few more minutes, Bucky reluctantly gets up and grabs one of their shirts from the floor and wipes them clean and throws the shirt back to the floor.

Steve elbows Bucky in the side. “Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“This was a really great idea.”

Bucky laughs. “As I recall, you were the one who started this whole thing.”

Steve reaches up and turns Bucky’s chin so he’s facing him and kisses him softly. “I didn’t mean the sex part, although that was amazing too. I meant this whole trip. Everything about it has been amazing. Thanks for working so hard to plan it.”

Bucky smiles, pleased with himself. “I’m glad you like your surprise,” he says. Then he ruins the moment by yawning loudly.

Steve laughs. “And that’s our cue to find some pajamas and get to sleep. Come on, Barnes. It’s clothes finding time.”

Reluctantly, Bucky shoves himself off the bed and goes to hunt for his bag. He thinks about taking off his arm, but decides that when they’re sleeping in an unknown location, he’d rather keep it on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapters! Next week: it's time for Bucky Barnes to get back behind the wheel of a car!


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My take on Steve and Bucky’s driving histories is based on a fantastic [tumblr post](http://spitandvinegar.tumblr.com/post/141770142283/open-sketchbook-spitandvinegar-ok-so-we-all) started by spitandvinegar (who created the original theory) and expanded on by open-sketchbook (who provided the historical evidence to back up the theory).
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains a graphic (non-gory) description of a past suicide attempt. If you’d like to skip it, read until Steve mentions the librarian telling him to go to the DMV, then you can skip to the next chapter. Please refer to the note at the end of the chapter if you require more details.

“I wanna go get my license,” Bucky announces one morning.

Steve looks up from his breakfast. “You ready to write the test?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “How hard can it be? Press the gas pedal to go and press the brake pedal to stop. End of story.”

Steve swallows and takes a swig of juice. “Buck, there’s a lot more to it than that. They ask you about the rules of the road.”

“And what the hell are those? Don’t hit anybody? Don’t drive like a maniac? Thanks, I got that.”

“Did you read the manual from the website?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “No. It’s all common sense stuff. I don’t gotta read a stupid manual.”

Steve sighs and goes to turn on the computer. Bucky continues eating his breakfast while Steve does something on the laptop. Then he brings it over and shoves Bucky’s plate over to make room for the computer.

It says ‘DC DMC Practice Knowledge Test’ on the screen and there’s a start button. Steve clicks on the button.

“Question 1: The sign shown below means?” Steve scrolls down. There’s a picture of a yellow circle with a black cross and two big R’s.

Bucky stares at it. He has no idea what the hell that thing is. “I’ve never seen that thing before in my life. They don’t have those in DC.”

“Yes, they do, Buck. In fact, on our way to Mandeep’s, we pass two of these. It’s a railroad crossing.” He clicks on the correct answer, then goes to the next question.

“How many feet should you allow from the side of your vehicle when driving around cyclists? This is a really important one—you remember that car that nearly hit you last summer? He obviously didn’t know the answer to this question.”

“Or he did, but he didn’t care,” Bucky mumbles.

“What’s the answer? Two, three, four or five feet?”

“Four.”

“You’re guessing.”

“Whatever. Click it.”

Steve does, and the answer’s wrong.

They go to the next question. “What do solid lane markings indicate?”

Jesus. Bucky sighs. “Seriously? Why do people need all these rules and signs and things painted on the road? We didn’t have any of those things when we were driving in Europe and we did fine.”

Steve shuts the computer lid. “That’s because we were driving through a war zone. Nobody cared about how we were driving. But you’re not in a war zone now, Buck. You’re in a city with a lot of vehicles—not to mention bikes, buses, large trucks, pedestrians—and if people don’t follow rules then people get hurt. When we were driving in Europe, we were mainly travelling as a convoy with nobody else around. It didn’t matter that we didn’t stick to any speed limits or use our turn signals.”

Bucky lets out a laugh. “You remember how many cars Dum-Dum wrecked? The man had terrible depth perception.”

Steve smiles. “Yeah. Any obstacle in his path would end up kissing the car sooner or later. But that’s my point. When Dum-Dum came back from the war, he was allowed to keep driving without a license and I’m sure it lead to a lot of accidents. Driving in a city is not the same as driving in a war zone and just because you were good at one doesn’t mean you’re good at both.”

Bucky sighs. “Did you have to write the test?”

Steve’s quiet for a moment. “No. But I ended up going back later and writing it. It’s a long story.” There’s something about his tone that makes Bucky turn in his chair and stare up at him.

“It doesn’t sound like a good story.”

Steve waves a hand. “Later, Buck. I don’t feel like getting into now. Let’s finish breakfast and we’ll start going over the manual together, okay?”

They spend the rest of the day watching a baseball game on television and then Steve makes pizza from scratch while Bucky reads out loud from the driver’s manual and googles things he doesn’t understand or asks Steve for clarification.

He decides pretty quickly that he won’t be taking the test for a while. He hasn’t exactly been paying attention while he’s been a passenger on the road, so the amount of stuff he needs to know is a bit overwhelming.

Once the pizza has been demolished and Bucky’s done the dishes, they jump on Steve’s motorcycle and drive down some of the quieter streets so Bucky can start applying some of the things he’s learned.

They approach an upside down triangle sign that says ‘yield’ on it. “Do I have to stop, Buck?” Steve asks over his shoulder. They’ve got their helmet shields up so they can talk to each other.

“Yeah?” Bucky guesses. He’s not too sure about that part. He knows the rest though.

“Who has to yield, me or the other people?”

“Me!” Bucky says, feeling triumphant. Steve laughs. “Good job.” They come to a stop at the sign. “How long do I have to stop for?”

“Until nobody’s coming.”

“Good. Tell me when it’s safe to go.” Bucky cranes his neck to peer up and down the street. When it’s clear, he tells Steve to go.

As they’re approaching a traffic light that’s yellow, Steve again asks him if he can go or not. “Yeah, you can make it,” Bucky says.

Steve shakes his head and slows down. By the time they’re at the light, it’s turned red. “We were too far away. Yellow means slow down and prepare to stop, not gun it and fly through when you’re half way up the street.”

“So if we would have been closer we could have gone?”

“Yeah. We’ll go find another light and I’ll show you.”

When they’re back home, Bucky makes them hot chocolate and sits on the couch where Steve’s sketching.

He sips his hot chocolate and watches Steve sketching for a while. He decides to see if it’s time for Steve’s not-so-good story.

“You wanna tell me what happened with your license?”

*             *             *

Steve keeps his eyes on his sketch. He decides to try playing dumb, hoping that’ll throw Bucky off. “Nothing happened with my license. I wouldn’t be driving if there was something wrong with it.”

“This morning, you didn’t wanna talking about it. If you wanna talk about it now, I’m here.”

Damn, Steve had hoped that Bucky had forgotten about his earlier tone. He doesn’t want to bring up this particular story. This is Bucky’s time and he wants to stay focused on that.

He knows telling Bucky the entire story will upset him.

He hates this story. He hated that entire period of time— _especially_ the ‘ticket incident’ and what it led to—and just thinking about it again makes his throat tighten. There’s a sick feeling in his stomach as the anxiety starts creeping in. Just _thinking_ about that time period is enough to make him feel shaky.

But—actually most of the story would serve well to bring home his point about Bucky needing to study hard for the test.

So he decides he’ll tell Bucky the important parts of the story—the ones related to the license—and keep the more upsetting parts to himself.

He’ll tell him about the tickets and keep the ‘closet part’ to himself. His throat tightens as soon as he thinks about it.

He takes a few careful breaths and pretends to be absorbed in his sketch. He refuses to break down before he’s even started the story.

He sees Bucky retrieving a tennis ball from his basket of hand-practicing-toys and toss it from one hand to the other, throwing the ball higher as he gets more comfortable and moving his hands further apart.

Steve takes a sip of his hot chocolate, hoping the warm liquid will sooth the lump in his throat. He focuses on his breathing.

Bucky turns his hand and bounces the ball off the floor, catching it with his left hand when it comes back up. Steve keeps count in his head as he bounces the ball—ten of those, then back to tossing back and forth.

Steve watches him, proud to see the motions are more fluid than they were a few weeks ago. Bucky’s hard work is paying off.

Watching Bucky has the desired effect of calming him enough that he finally launches into the story.

Well, most of the story.

Not the closet part. That will definitely be skipped over.

“After I woke up, I stayed at a SHIELD facility in New York for a while. They had to do a bunch of tests to make sure everything was okay. They had me see a therapist, but I didn’t like that. I—he made it seem like he understood what I was going through and—and—how the hell can somebody understand what’s it’s like to lose everybody—your entire world—in the blink of an eye when they haven’t gone through it? I flat out asked him at one point if he’d ever even lost anybody close to him and he said no. He was so patronizing and—and—fake. Acted like he was bored out of his mind the entire time.” He waves a hand in annoyance.

He hated that man. He _hated_ that man.

He’d decided that if this is what therapists were like, he wanted nothing to do with them.

Sure, Jemisha is helpful for Bucky, but it’s not something Steve wants to bother with. The stupid man had left a definite bad taste in his mouth where therapists are concerned.

Anyway—he needs to continue with his story.

Well, most of the story.

All of it except the closet part.

“Anyway, it was easy to fool him into thinking I was fine. I put on the Captain America smile and got my ticket out of there. They set me up with an apartment and a bunch of papers and I was free to do whatever I wanted.”

Bucky slows his ball tossing.

“They had given me a driver license that let me drive cars and motorcycles. I didn’t think it was a big deal—I thought everybody got one when they turned 18. Buying the bike was one of the first things I did when I was on my own. Riding it around gave me something to do. Back then, I had even less idea of what to do with myself than I did when you first came home. I didn’t even know how to turn on the television or the computer. I hated going outside and dealing with the crowds. When I was walking around, everything was overwhelming and I felt like everybody was staring at me. I didn’t dare go into any stores because there was too much stuff, and anyway, I didn’t have any money. Well—I had money in my account, but I had no idea how to access it. Nobody had shown me how to use my debit card—I didn’t even know ATMs existed or what the debit card was for. I ended up having to go back to SHIELD headquarters when I had run out of food. They were so damn surprised when I told them I didn’t know how to work any of the stuff in my apartment or how to get money. Anyway, they sent somebody to help me and he showed me how to work the television and how to get money from the ATM. He also helped me buy the motorcycle.”

Steve notices Bucky’s clutching the tennis ball very tight. Bucky seems to realize it at the same time. He looks down at it and drops it into the basket.

Steve focuses on his sketch pad again, forcing his pencil to keep shading in Natasha’s hair even though it’s already finished.

He’s getting closer and closer to the part of the story that will need to be skipped over.

But first, the ticket incident.

“Having the bike was great. I could zoom around New York and explore places with nobody staring at me, and if any place was too overwhelming, I could go somewhere else. Then I made a left turn in a roundabout one day and suddenly there are sirens behind me and I get pulled over by the police. They wrote me a ticket because that’s not the right way to go through a roundabout. I didn’t even know what a roundabout was. Then three days later, I missed my turn so I turned around in the intersection and then there are sirens again and I got another ticket and the police officer was really mad at me and I tried explaining that I had no idea I had done anything wrong and he just glared at me and told me my ignorance wasn’t an excuse for breaking the rules.”

He continues shading in Natasha’s hair. His heart is hammering in his chest and it’s getting a bit more difficult to breathe, but he forces himself to continue.

“So I went back to the apartment and I was so upset with myself—two tickets for things that I didn’t even know were wrong! I didn’t want to go to SHIELD for help again but I had no idea where to turn. I realized that there must be a book somewhere that had all these rules written in it that people knew. So I went to the library and asked them if they had the book. She looked at me like I was a complete idiot and told me to look it up on the DMV website. Honestly, it sounded like she was speaking a foreign language, so after I stared at her for a bit she gave this annoyed sigh and told me to go to the DMV office.” Steve lets out an ugly laugh, remembering how humiliated he had felt. “The DMV. ‘ _Go to the DMV’_. Well, I had no idea what the DMV was, but she was making me feel like an idiot so I didn’t want to ask for more information. So I went back to the apartment and I—I—”

His hand is shaking too hard to properly hold the pencil and it falls to the floor, rolling under the couch. His throat is getting tighter, all of the emotions from those days flooding back.

Humiliation, anger, helplessness and that overwhelming loneliness and despair.

The voice that constantly cried in his head _‘No, no, no. I don’t want this. I want to go back. Don’t make me stay here. I want to go back. I want to go back.’_

He realizes Bucky has slid up next to him and the sketchpad is pulled off his lap. Then Bucky’s pulling Steve close. Steve clutches his shirt and gratefully buries his face into his chest.

He tries to remind himself that Bucky’s here— _Bucky’s here_ —and this world turned out to be pretty okay after all. And Bucky’s here.

But a part of him is still stuck in that half empty apartment with that desperate, crying child that lived within him, begging somebody to take him back home.

“Hey, breathe, Stevie. Breathe. Come on, slow it down. You’re okay. Everything’s okay, sweetheart.” Bucky kisses the top of his head and rubs his back. Steve winds his arms around Bucky and clutches him desperately.

“Buck—I—Buck—she made me feel like such an idiot and I was so angry and so sad and I didn’t want to be there anymore. I wanted to be back in my time. I wanted nothing to do with this stupid twenty-first century and their confusing gadgets and rules.”

Bucky rocks them slowly, rubbing his back.

“I—Buck—I came back to the apartment and I sat there for two days and—”

He abruptly cuts himself off, realizing how close he’s come to telling Bucky the closet part of the story.

The closet part needs to be skipped over.

The only place the closet part can live is in Steve’s memory. It’s bad enough that it has to live there, but at least Steve can make sure it won’t live in anybody else’s head.

He’d sat in his apartment—that stupid, half empty, horrible apartment—for two days and then he’d decided that if he didn’t want anything to do with this place and this time then they couldn’t make him.

He’d removed the extension cord that was connected to the television. Then he’d gone into the bedroom, attached the cord to the bar in the closet and wrapped it around his neck as tight as he could, sat down and started leaning—

—and then he’d waited to die.

He’d been so happy to die. He’d been looking forward to seeing his ma and his pa and Bucky again.

It had briefly crossed his mind while he’d sat in the apartment for two days that he would be committing a sin and wouldn’t end up in heaven with the others. But then he’d realized that God or anybody else who looked at his situation would understand he wasn’t committing a sin—he was just trying to get back home. Besides—if God hadn’t wanted him to end up in this situation, He wouldn’t have let Bucky fall from that train.

Simple as that.

He remembers he was so pleased with the way he’d worked everything out and how he’d come up with a solution to his problem.

He’d felt the cord digging into his throat and he’d felt so content when he couldn’t breathe properly anymore and eventually his vision had started to darken and fade. There was a little bit of panic, but mostly there was relief.

He was on his way home.

Then—

Then the bar had broken from his weight. He still hadn’t gotten accustomed to how much heavier his new body was and he hadn’t accounted for that when he’d chosen the bar. He’d already passed out, but he remembers waking up several hours later, lying on the floor, the cord hanging loose around his neck, the broken pieces of the closet bar on the floor behind him.

He’d been so mad and upset that he’d just stayed on the floor for hours and cried, wondering why his ma and pa and Bucky didn’t want him to come join them.

After several hours, a different thought had occurred to him.

What if they didn’t want him to join them yet because they didn’t think he had given this new life a good enough go yet?

The more he thought it over, the more he liked that idea. They wanted him to keep trying a little longer. If he made a decent effort of trying hard and then decided he still didn’t like it, then he could go and they wouldn’t stop him again.

He decided that was the best possible explanation for why the bar had broken.

So he went back to the library to ask for directions to the DMV and then he went to the DMV office and applied for a driver license through normal channels.

A few weeks after that, Nick Fury had come to him about joining the Avengers.

He remembers thinking it wasn’t a coincidence that Bucky had re-appeared in his life the exact same time that SHIELD had collapsed. He’d been on the verge of once again losing everything that gave his life meaning when Bucky had appeared and given him more purpose that he could have ever hoped to have.

He hadn’t thought about the ‘ticket incident’ in a few years now.

That was the lowest he had ever felt and thankfully he hadn’t sunk quite to that point in the years since, even after the ‘tv remote incident’.

He’s not surprised that he had sunk that low—he’s only grateful that these days he has people he can turn to for help when he feels bad.

And every day that passes and he doesn’t even come close to thinking about doing something like that again is a victory.

Regardless, he will never tell Bucky or Sam or any of the other people who are important to him about the closet part of the ‘ticket incident’.

He doesn’t see the point.

It would upset them—especially Bucky—and there’s nothing they can do to change what he had done—or tried to do.

As for the future, he has a support system in place that will catch him if he stumbles again.

But he really does have to finish his story.

Bucky’s gently rubbing his back, murmuring into his ear, calmly waiting for Steve to continue.

Where had he left off? Right—after the library, but before the DMV.

Skipping the closet part.

“It took a few days until I’d calmed down a bit.” That’s the understatement of the century.

“Then I went back to the library and asked her to please explain what the DMV was. Then I went to the DMV and gave them my license and told them I wanted to get my license the proper way.”

He feels much calmer now and turns himself so he’s lying more comfortably against Bucky’s chest. Bucky lets him turn in his arms and then tightens his grip once he’s comfortable.

“They gave me a copy of the manual and helped me sign up for driver education class. I learned a lot and it gave me something to do. Besides, I didn’t have anybody I could practice driving with, and the instructor let me use her car and helped me practice, so that was great. I liked having something to work towards. Then Nick Fury recruited me to the Avengers and I had even more stuff to keep busy with. By the way, I gave Fury an earful about the license thing. Told him how irresponsible it was to have given me a license without making sure I knew the rules. He said he’d seen footage of me riding a motorcycle during the war—as if that magically gave me the knowledge about modern day driving rules. Christ, what an idiot. Anyway, I kept working at it and when I came to Washington, I finished my license and got my motorcycle endorsement. All completely legitimate. I felt really proud the day I got my full license in the mail, Buck. That was great.”

He pokes Bucky in the side. “See? I’m just trying to prevent you getting tickets.”

Bucky kisses his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Steve frowns and pulls back a bit to look at him. Bucky looks upset and pale.

“For what?”

“You had to go through all of that by yourself. SHIELD is full of nitwits.”

Steve gives him a smile. It was definitely a good decision to keep the closet part of the story to himself.

“You weren’t having such a great time at that point either.”

Bucky manages a small laugh. “I guess not. We certainly worked hard for our happiness, huh?”

Steve leans forward and presses their foreheads together. “Yeah, we did.”

“And yes, you win. I’ll learn every word in that manual and I promise I’ll never get a ticket.”

Steve smiles and flicks him on the nose. “Never say never, Barnes.”

“Oh, is that a challenge? I said never, I meant it. You’ll see.”

 _Definitely_ a good decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning (details): After he returned to his apartment following his conversation with the librarian, Steve attempted to commit suicide. The attempt failed (the serum intervened) and he decided to give life one more try. He spent time learning how to drive properly and then got recruited by Fury to join the Avengers.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to get Barnes back behind a wheel! And Rogers thinks about going back to work - but does he want to pick up the shield again? Enjoy!

“So when’s the last time you drove a car?” Sam asks, tightening his seatbelt.

Bucky grins at him, patting the steering wheel. “Wrong question. The correct question is: when’s the last time I _remember_ driving a car. And the answer to that is: 1944.”

“Great. Driving hasn’t changed at all since then,” Sam says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Bucky laughs and wiggles in his seat, very excited to get going. “Relax, Wilson. I passed the written test and have an official learner’s permit. According to the government, I’m legally allowed to be behind this wheel.”

He and Steve had taken the bus to the DMV a few days ago and Bucky had gotten through the written test with no problems. The best part of the day had been when they’d asked him for all of his identification. Bucky had proudly pulled out the large bundle of paperwork and displayed it on the counter. The lady had given him a weird look at his grin, but Bucky hadn’t cared.

All of the papers that he’d displayed on the counter were a symbol of the hard work him and Steve had done over the past few years.

His birth certificate, his social, his proof of DC residency—and wasn’t it a kick that he’s an official DC resident? He realized he had been one for a while, but he’d never really thought about it. He had multiple documents—the apartment lease, an electric bill, his credit card statement—to prove that he—James Barnes—was an official resident of Washington DC.

An official person with official documents.

Only an official person with official documents could get an official learner’s permit.

Getting handed the learner’s permit was an amazing moment. He’d run over to the waiting area where Steve was playing on his phone and shoved the permit under his nose. They must have looked nuts to the other people in the room—two thirty year olds acting like excited sixteen year olds, but they hadn’t cared.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve never driven a vehicle in this century.”

Bucky lifts a finger. “I don’t _remember_ having driven a vehicle in this century. I’m pretty sure Hydra had me drive a car from time to time.” He’s smirking, chuckling to himself and waggling his eyebrows at Sam.

Sam swears under his breath. “How is it that two ninety year olds create the biggest stress in my life, huh?”

“According to Mrs. Sarah Rogers, it’s because we’re special. Always have been.”

“Uh huh. I’m sure. I’m also sure she meant that sarcastically.” Sam frowns. “So how long did you drive before the war?”

Bucky frowns at him, momentarily confused. Then he understands. “Oh, you think Steve and I drove in New York?”

Sam gives him a look. “I know they had cars in the 30s. Don’t even try to pull that one on me.”

Bucky chuckles quietly. “Obviously they had cars, but I don’t think you understand how dirt poor Steve and I were. We were always bottom of the barrel—there were weeks when we barely managed to put any food in our bellies. The closest we came to cars was when we’d see them zooming past us in the street. The first time I ever drove a car was during the war.”

Sam’s eyes are a bit wide and his mouth has that pinched look that he often gets when Steve and Bucky tell him stories about how things were done back in the day. “So they let you drive a car even though you’d never driven before?”

Bucky laughs. “I ain’t ever even sat in a car before then. Trucks sure, but not cars. Stevie did—he got driven around a bit during the serum time and his USO days. But neither of us had touched a steering wheel until they threw keys at our heads and told us our unit needed to drive 200 miles and we were supposed to get there as soon as possible.”

Bucky doesn’t have many clear memories of it, but he does have a little snippet of a memory—his hands on a steering wheel, Steve in the seat beside him, both of them laughing hysterically and hollering as they sped down a dirt road somewhere.

But this wasn’t a dirt road and he’d promised Steve there wouldn’t be any laughing and hollering going on during the driving.

He thumps a hand on the steering wheel. “Alright! Quit stalling, young man! Let’s get going. I ain’t getting any younger here.”

They’re in a big mall parking lot. The mall’s been closed for a few hours and the parking lot only has a few cars left in it. It’s the perfect place for Bucky to get a feel for driving a car without having to worry about using his new road knowledge.

“Hold your horses, old man. Let’s get everything set up first. Can you reach the pedals with your feet properly?”

“Yup.”

“What about your grip on the steering wheel? Is it close enough?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, do your mirrors. Rearview and both side mirrors. Make sure you can see properly.”

He has no trouble adjusting the rearview mirror but he needs Sam’s assistance finding the tiny control panel that adjusts both side mirrors.

Bucky claps his hands. He’s so ready for this. “Alright. My seatbelt’s on. Your seatbelt’s on. My anxiety is low. Is your anxiety low?”

Sam laughs. It sounds a bit strained. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“You’re clutching your seatbelt like you’re drowning.”

Sam unclenches his hands and puts both hands flat on his thighs. “Better?”

“Much. Thank you. You were making me question my confidence. That ain’t right. I’m a trauma survivor, remember? I need to have lots of confidence in myself.”

Sam laughs. “Right. Like that’s a concern for you these days. Get moving already, Barnes. Turn the car on. And remember: don’t break my car.”

Bucky presses down on the brake pedal and turns the key in the ignition. His hand hovers uncertainly over the gear shift, but Sam points at the emergency brake. “That first.”

The emergency brake is taken off, then the gear shift is put into forward.

Slowly, Bucky eases his foot off the brake and presses on the gas pedal. The car gently rolls forward.

They coast forward until Sam tells him to turn in a slow circle, first one way, then the other. Muscle memory comes back to Bucky pretty quickly and he gets more confident, picking up speed, stopping and starting and zig zagging between the large poles and parked vehicles.

They practice for a while until Sam tells him to get out of the parking lot and join the flow of traffic on one of the streets bordering the mall.

He’s most nervous during the right turn to merge into the line of cars moving past, but once they’re in the flow, he settles. They make a few turns, letting Bucky get used to using the turn signal—which is one of the few things in the car that he has to do only with his left hand—and looking at traffic lights. Sam tells him to focus on the cars around him while Sam keeps an eye on his speedometer, telling him when to speed up or slow down. Bucky’s too focused on the cars around them to read the street signs around them so Sam read them and tells Bucky what to watch for.

They end the lesson back in the mall parking lot. Bucky parks and turns off the car successfully, then grins at Sam.

“That went really well, huh? You’re in one piece, I’m in one piece, your car’s in one piece, everybody else on the road is intact…”

Sam laughs. “You did really well, Barnes. I’m impressed.”

Bucky thumps the steering wheel, looking thrilled with himself. “I did great! I can’t wait to tell Steve.” He lightly punches Sam on the shoulder. “Hey, thanks for this, Sam.”

“You’re welcome. We’ll try to practice a few times a week, okay? Are you and Steve thinking about getting a car or are you gonna share the bike?”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. I’ll talk to Steve about it.”

“There’s no rush. As long as you don’t mind doing evening lessons, I’ve got time to do it a few times a week.”

Bucky unclips his seatbelt and stretches. “Alright, you wanna switch seats and head home?”

“Sure. I’ll drop you off.”

*             *             *

He’s unlocking the building door, eager to get out of the rain, when Achilles starts going nuts, nearly yanking the leash out of Bucky’s hand as he tries lunging for a person coming up behind them.

Moments later, he hears: “Hi Buck!” Then he hears Steve laugh. “Hi, Achilles! Hi, buddy! Buck—you can let him go, I got him.”

Bucky releases the leash and finishes opening the door, holding it open so Tobi can wander in and shake himself off once he’s inside. Bucky leans against the door, keeping it open while Steve greets an excited Achilles and tries herding him towards the door.

He can barely see Steve’s face under the hood of the rain jacket and his Nationals cap, but he can tell he’s grinning while he scratches the soaking wet dog behind his ears.

“Well, it’s clear who your favourite is around here. Suzy’s gonna be jealous,” he calls over.

Steve manages to grab Achilles’ leash and jumps up the stoop to the door. He rolls his eyes and gives Bucky a hard kiss. “I’ve only ever had one favourite, and that hasn’t changed in eighty years.”

“You’re such a schmaltz, Rogers.”

Steve laughs and ducks past Bucky into the building.

They wander up to Ed Baker’s floor and drop off both dogs, then head down to their own apartment. They pull of their rain gear and Steve carefully hangs up his Nationals cap.

“So, how was the game? It’s lucky the rain didn’t start until an hour ago, huh?” Bucky asks.

Steve grins. “It was great! We only had a small rain delay towards the end, but it was great the rest of the time. That guy—Darcy—he was there again.”

Darcy is a guy around their age—by that he means thirty, not a hundred—who is also a season ticketholder and regularly goes to games. His seat is right by Steve’s and the two have struck up a friendship based on their appreciation of baseball.

Bucky had met him before and he approves of Darcy.

He’s been busy with his appointments and getting back to walking the neighborhood dogs, so he doesn’t have as much time to attend baseball games as Steve.

He’s thrilled Steve has a new friend.

“Yeah? How’s he doing?”

“Great.” Bucky heads off into the bathroom to pull the elastic out of his hair. He grabs a towel and rubs it dry and combs it.

“So tell me about the game,” Bucky calls into the living room. That gets Steve going and Bucky listens to the summarized play-by-play. It’s much better than the summary they have on the sports channel in the evenings. Steve doesn’t shy away from including his opinions about various parts of the play.

While Steve talks, Bucky finishes brushing his hair, then he practices putting it up in a ponytail. It’s one of the tasks he’s been practicing. Now that he can use both hands, it’s unbelievable how much easier it is. Hair doesn’t get caught in his prosthetic and the entire process can be done in seconds.

Steve had been thrilled when Bucky had shown him how well he could do up his hair—but Bucky had also noticed how Steve’s face had slightly fallen the second he thought Bucky was no longer looking at him.

So Bucky has made up his mind. It’s a skill he’ll still practice when he’s in the bathroom by himself, but in general, this is a part of his independence that he doesn’t mind living without.

Once he’s satisfied that he can do it, he pulls the elastic back out and runs the comb through his hair again.

He heads out of the bathroom towards Steve, who’s staring into fridge as he finishes telling him about the last inning.

Bucky waits until he’s finished talking and pulled some leftovers out of the fridge. Once Steve’s turned around, fridge closed, play-by-play finished and his arms full of containers, Bucky wiggles the green hair elastic in Steve’s face.

“Hair help, please,” he says.

Steve freezes, staring at him. He looks a bit hurt.

Bucky wiggles the elastic again.

Steve sighs and puts the containers down. “Buck, I know you can do it on your own. You need to practice—”

“I know I can, but that ain’t the point. The point is that you do it much better than me and my hair is too important to let just anybody style it. It needs to be done by the best—which is Steven Grant Rogers.”

Steve’s eyes get soft and Bucky sees he’s trying to hide a pleased smile. Steve pulls the elastic off Bucky’s fingers and Bucky spins around. He sighs happily when he feels Steve’s hands in his hair, gathering up the strands.

“What do you want?”

“A bun, please.”

Steve takes his time—making sure there are no bumps and no missed strands. He tightens the elastic multiple times and fusses with the ends of the strands poking out from the bun.

“There. All done.”

Bucky grins, spinning back around. He pulls Steve close and kisses him. “Thank you, sweetheart. Do you mind continuing to be my main hair stylist?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I guess I can live with it.”

Bucky gets to work heating up leftovers while Steve gathers cutlery and drinks.

They’re sitting down eating dinner when Bucky asks what Darcy thought of the game. Usually Steve would jump right in—telling him exactly what Darcy did or did not agree with regarding Steve’s own analysis—but this time his gaze drops to his plate and he spends way too long spearing a piece of broccoli with his fork.

“He thought it was good.”

Bucky chews slowly and stares at Steve. “Rogers?”

“Yeah?”

“What happened?”

Steve shrugs. “Nothing happened. Not really. It’s—Darcy just said something and it was weird.”

“What did he say?”

Steve sighs and focuses on twirling pasta around his fork.

When no answer is forthcoming, Bucky lightly kicks at Steve’s ankles under the table. “Am I gonna have to find Darcy and put him straight? Explain to him that making my better half feel uncomfortable is not an option? I haven’t had to do it in seventy years, but I’ll do it. No problem.”

Steve smiles. “Jesus, Buck. No, nothing like that. He doesn’t even know it made me feel weird.”

“What then? Did he flirt with you? I wouldn’t blame him—I mean—who could resist flirting with you? I certainly can’t. It’s physically impossible. You can’t hold that against Darcy.”

“Oh, my God, no, nothing like that. No, it was stupid.”

“Tell me anyway.” Bucky shoves a mouthful of spaghetti into his mouth and chews. He kicks at Steve’s ankles again.

Steve sighs. “He missed last Thursday’s game, remember?”

Bucky nods while he chews.

“So I mentioned that it was a great game, and he said that he would have loved to come, but he was working. Then he says it amazes him that I can attend so many games. I must have a very flexible work schedule, he says. Then he asks me what I do.”

Uh oh.

“What did you say?”

Steve shrugs. “I didn’t know what to say. He hasn’t recognized me as Captain America, but even if he did, what was I gonna say? That the company I worked for went under and I’ve made zero effort at finding new work?”

Bucky frowns. He finishes stabbing the last few vegetables on his plate. “That’s not true. You’ve been working. You’ve been working real hard, you just haven’t gotten paid for it.”

Steve sighs, twirling his fork through pasta—winding it up, then winding it down. “No, I haven’t.”

“Gotten paid for it? Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

“No, I mean I haven’t been working.”

Bucky puts down his fork. “What do you call this?” he says, waving an arm around the apartment, encompassing both himself and the apartment.

“You’ve been helping your partner during his trauma recovery—all the stuff with my brain, my arm, my teeth, my papers—and you’ve been learning how to live in the 21st century, not to mention that you’ve been working on yourself. That’s most important. You weren’t in a good place in your head and if you’d just jumped into working for the new SHIELD or some other job, then you would have ignored it. Maybe that would have led to a really, really terrible ending.”

Bucky chews his way through the last mouthful, then continues. “When you woke up, Fury asked you to jump back into being Captain America and you being you, said yes and off you went—letting the ‘Cap you’ learn how to be in the 21st century. But along the way, the ‘Steve Rogers you’ got pushed aside. These last few years have been about the ‘Steve Rogers you’ learning about who he is in this century. That’s very important work.”

*             *             *

Steve feels a bit better—a bit less guilty—as he listens to Bucky. It’s true—he _has_ been very busy since SHIELD had fallen. Sure, there had been periods of time when he hadn’t been doing very much, but maybe the periods of time when he was working on himself and helping Bucky can make up for those?

He hopes so.

In the past few months, he finds that he’s paying attention to the world around him a bit more. Life in his little bubble has started feeling a bit small. It’s still comfortable, but a bit small.

And the more he pays attention to the world around him, the more he’s starting to realize that he really wants to find something more to do.

Not just hobbies—he has hobbies, tons of them, even enough to satisfy Sam—but he wants to work. He wants to feel like he’s contributing to society.

He looks at the people around him: Natasha, Sam, Darcy, Jemisha, Mandeep—they’re all working and contributing to society.

He’s just become a spectator. He’s more of an active spectator these days, sure, no longer sitting in his little bubble, but he wants to be more than that.

He misses working.

When those thoughts had first started, the thoughts that had followed were all very quick—and very predictable.

Working means being Captain America.

Being Captain America means picking up the shield.

Picking up the shield means being in good enough shape to fight, so that means starting a rigid workout routine again.

It also means re-joining SHIELD, or what’s left of it.

Or going Natasha’s route and becoming a solo Avenger.

Whatever route he chooses, it’ll mean being away from his bubble and Buck for days, maybe weeks at a time.

The more Steve wanders down those paths of thoughts, the more he realizes that he really isn’t excited about it.

Not just not excited—to be honest, he feels reluctant.

 _Very_ reluctant.

At first he thinks he’s reluctant because of the workouts. He has become a bit lazier in the past few years and he enjoys spending time lazing around with Bucky and their friends.

But then he realizes that isn’t it.

The truth of it is—

The truth of it is—

He doesn’t want to pick up the shield.

He doesn’t—

He doesn’t want to be Captain America anymore. He’s been nothing but Steve Rogers for a few years now and he’s felt happier during those years than he ever has being Captain America.

But just thinking those thoughts make him feel horribly guilty.

The guilt is enough to prevent him from wandering down those paths of thought any further, and he’s pushed the entire issue out of his mind.

But these days the want to work is getting stronger.

So he’s really stuck.

He realizes he’s been twirling his fork through the spaghetti for several minutes so he drops the fork.

“You still hungry?” Bucky asks.

Steve shakes his head. He’s lost his appetite. “No.”

Bucky’s staring at him. “Talk to me, Rogers. What’s going on in your head? If you’re feeling guilty over the time you’ve spent at home helping me, then that’s just stupid. That’s like me saying I feel guilty over spending time fixing my teeth.”

Steve’s trying to come up with a thoughtful, intelligent way of saying ‘I don’t wanna be Captain America anymore’. It sounds so childish in his head.

Ungrateful.

But then again, this is Bucky. These days he never shies away from telling Bucky things the exact way they are in his head—as long as those things won’t hurt Bucky.

“I—I don’t wanna be Captain America anymore,” he blurts out, staring at his half full dinner plate.

Bucky stares at him. He blinks. “Did somebody from SHIELD contact you?”

“What? No.”

“Because you know they can’t force you to work for them, right? If they start up with some malarkey, we’ll pack up and go somewhere else. No problem.”

“I know. That’s—that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then where did that thought even come from? Cap is semi-retired these days and nobody can force him out of retirement until you’re good and ready.”

Steve sighs. “That’s—that’s the problem, Buck. I want to go back to work.”

“Okay.”

“But I don’t wanna be Cap anymore.”

“Okay.”

He says it like it’s no big deal. He says it like Steve just told him what he’s planning for dinner tomorrow.

Steve scowls at him. “I’m being serious.”

Bucky’s staring at him. “So am I, sweetheart. Don’t get mad, just take a breath. This is one of those times where you started the conversation in your head about a month ago and I’m only joining in now. You’re gonna have to catch me up.”

Steve chews on his lip.

He finds he doesn’t want to have this conversation while he’s sitting alone on his side of the table.

“Can we go cuddle first?”

Bucky smiles. “Sure.” He reaches over and takes Steve’s plate. He puts plastic wrap around it and shoves it into the fridge, then puts the rest of their dishes into the sink to be washed later.

They change into more comfortable clothes and go out to the couch. Bucky sprawls out first, then pats his chest in invitation and Steve wedges himself between Bucky and the couch and snuggles into his chest.

Bucky’s rubbing Steve’s back with both arms, patiently waiting for Steve to continue their conversation.

“So I’ve been thinking about wanting to go back to work.”

“Okay. That’s good. Where did the Cap issue come up?”

Steve sighs. “Because that’s what I _do_. Going back to work means being Cap.”

Bucky frowns. “Nope. You got yourself confused there, my darling fella. Being Cap is just one option of work for you. Steve Rogers can be whatever he wants to be. Cap is a pretty one-career track kind of person, but that’s his problem, not yours. I see where you got confused, Rogers. You see, you’re Steve Rogers. When you pick up the shield and go running around, then you’re Cap. But the rest of the time, you’re Steve Rogers and you get to be whoever you want.”

Steve scowls into Bucky’s shirt. “It’s not that simple, Buck.” It figures Bucky is deliberately trying to brush this off as being no big deal. Bucky’s never been completely comfortable with the Captain America persona and he’s probably been more than happy to live without it these past few years.

“Why isn’t it that simple? You never signed a life-long contract to be Captain America, did you?”

“It’s—that’s not the point! Just because I didn’t physically sign a piece of paper doesn’t mean I didn’t accept this life-long role.”

Bucky’s hands stop rubbing his back. “Okay, hold up. Hold up, hold up, hold up. I’m starting to see where your confusion is coming from, Rogers. We’re gonna get this straightened out right now.”

He sits up, propping up Steve beside him. He tilts Steve’s chin up so he’s making eye contact.

“Alright. I’m about to say something very important. I know I say important things all the time, but I’m being very serious about this one. You ready?”

Steve can’t help but poke fun at his seriousness. “Want me to alert the papers first?” He doesn’t see the point of staying serious—he already knows Bucky will end up agreeing with him that being Cap is his only option.

Bucky scowls. “Take the jokes and save them for another day. I’m being serious. Ready?”

“Okay.”

“I’m gonna tell you a story. It’s a pretty damn long story—it covers about 70 years—but I’m gonna do a summary. Ready?”

“Go ahead.”

“It’s 1943. Our wonderful country has just entered a war that sucks for a lot of reasons. I’m not gonna get into them. The side we’re joining isn’t doing too well and we ain’t too excited to join in. But they need lots of people to fight. That’s not a problem—they can just force us to fight. But those of us who can’t fight, they need us to participate by giving our time and our money. Some of us ain’t too keen on those ideas. So they need to find some propaganda masterpiece. What’s better than creating a Super Soldier? So they make one. They don’t make him so he can help fight in the war—no, no, they need him to run around on stage after stage and convince people to give their money and time.”

Steve stays quiet. Every word is true. So far.

“Their plan works perfectly—their Super Soldier is a great propaganda machine and he’s happy to participate because he’s just naturally a nice guy. Anyway, they have him do some performances in Europe for the troops to raise morale. He decides he’s had enough of being a stage monkey and he wants to use his Super Soldier skills to actually fight Nazis. So he does.”

Steve smiles. “And he has his best fella by his side.”

“This ain’t a story about his best fella. Hush, you’re interrupting the flow. Where was I?”

“Fighting Nazis.”

“Right. We did that. I mean— _they_ —they did that. They fought Nazis. Then things went sideways and the Super Soldier died. But the legend of the Super Soldier remained. He had a name they gave him—I think I forgot that part—it was ‘Captain America’. They wanted everything about him to be as patriotic as possible so people would open their wallets quicker. They couldn’t make him fart red, white and blue fireworks, but they did everything else. When he died, it was a big problem. The propaganda machine almost came to a halt. They couldn’t have that. So instead of parading Captain America around on a stage, they used his movies and stories. When everybody got tired of those movies and stories, they made up new ones. As time went on, our good country always needed that propaganda machine to keep churning. So Captain America lived on, always being exactly what the government needed him to be. It didn’t matter that they didn’t have a physical person to parade around anymore.”

“But then he came back.”

Bucky glares at him and pokes him in the side. “Don’t interrupt the storyteller. So seventy years go by and Captain America is still a beacon of patriotism and fighting evil and standing up for helpless little people—and the government’s definition of who’s a helpless little person changes often, but that’s not the point. Then Captain America wakes up. And the government is so excited to get their living, breathing propaganda machine back, so they hand him his shield and off he goes. But then Captain America starts to realize that this isn’t the same as fighting Nazis anymore. The enemy isn’t some man throwing salutes everywhere and twirling his moustache—”

“Hitler’s moustache wasn’t long enough for him to—”

“I’m sorry, are you interrupting again?”

“No, sir.”

“I didn’t think so. These days, the enemy hides behind fake good intentions and sneaky loopholes. The war is fought with deceit and phoney smiles and lies. Captain America isn’t used to that kind of fighting. And you know what? That’s okay. The end.”

Steve blinks. “The end?”

“Yes. That’s the end of the story.”

“That’s a terrible ending.”

Bucky smiles. “Rogers, I was trying to make two points. Very good points and I was trying to make them in a very artistic manner, but obviously it’s too high brow for you. So I’ll dumb it down. Ready?”

“Yes. Can we go back to cuddling? I promise I’ll listen.”

“Alright.” Bucky lies back down and pulls Steve against him. They arrange themselves until they’re comfortable, then Bucky gets to his important points.

“First of all, Captain America has always been a made-up persona. You were the physical embodiment of that persona for a while, which is nice, but not necessary. Cap will live on long after we’re both gone, and he’ll continue being whatever the government wants him to be. If they really need a physical person to be Cap, they can find one. But you don’t have to play that role ever again if you don’t want to.”

Steve is fiddling with the hem of Bucky’s shirt. That’s a good point. A very good point. He’s always had difficulty separating Cap from himself, but Bucky’s always been able to keep the two separate.

Maybe Bucky’s way is better.

“My second point: you don’t have to feel guilty just because you were made into a Super Soldier and you ain’t using those skills right now. You were trained to fight seventy years ago. You were good at it—really damn good at it, but the fighting today is different. Besides, every single soldier in the history of time has been allowed to put down their weapons once they’ve had enough and decided to retire. You have that same right.”

“But they gave me the seru—”

“So? The government spent hundreds of dollars training me back in the day. I went, I served and now I’m done. You ain’t saying I have to go join the army again, are you?”

“Of course not—”

“The same applies for you. Yes, they spent some a bit more time and money training you than they did me, but it’s the same idea. They didn’t turn you into a soldier so that you would spend the rest of your days fighting. You fought the fight you wanted to fight and now you’re done and it’s time to let the young guns take over and have their turn. We’re done. We’re allowed to go home, Stevie.”

Steve’s quiet for a long time, thinking it over.

He still feels guilty—but Bucky had made good points.

Sam had received high level, specialized training that had taken years and he’d served his country—and now he’s retired. And Steve knows he had every right to retire. Why would Steve accept Sam’s retirement, but not his own?

“So it’s okay to stay home?” he asks quietly.

Bucky gives him a tight squeeze. “Yes, sweetheart. We served our time just like we promised we would. Now we get to enjoy retirement. You can do whatever you want now.”

That makes him pause. He’s never actually thought about what he wants to do—he’s always gotten stuck on his confusion over Cap.

“I have no idea what I want to do.”

Bucky rubs his back. “That’s okay. You had no idea what hobbies you wanted to do and we figured it out. We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for loving Steve Rogers, not just Cap.”

Bucky is quiet for a moment, then Steve feels himself being shifted so Bucky can kiss his forehead. “I’ve loved Steve Rogers long before Cap even existed. And no matter what happens to Cap, I will always love Steve Rogers.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please only refer to the End Note after you've read the chapter, unless you want to be spoiled about Steve's new career choice or Bucky's new hobby. The note only contains some disclaimers regarding DC locations and programs, nothing sensitive or triggering.

Steve tightens his seatbelt and exchanges a worried look with Suzy, who’s lying on the seat beside him. Alina’s in the passenger seat, watching Bucky adjusting his mirrors.

Bucky narrows his eyes at Steve in the rearview mirror. “You get that worried look of your face, Rogers. I’m a wonderful driver.”

Alina smiles. “Yes, Steve be nice to husband. Husband is good driver. Learning very quickly.”

“I—Buck are you sure you’re okay with this many people in the car?”

“It’s fine. Relax. I need everybody to stay quiet and let me focus and then we’ll be fine.”

There’s not a sound in the car during the entire drive. Even Suzy stays quiet. Steve focuses on scratching Suzy’s head to stop himself from being what Sam calls a ‘backseat driver’.

At first Steve is watching Bucky’s every move, worrying that he’ll forget to use the turn signal or press the wrong pedal, but like always, after a few minutes he calms down. By the time they get to the shopping center, Steve’s been staring out the window at the passing scenery, focusing more on Suzy licking his hand than Bucky’s driving.

Bucky parks the car, turns off the ignition and grins at everybody in the car. “Look at that—nobody died!”

Alina laughs and Steve rolls his eyes. He gets out of the car and opens Alina’s door for her. He helps her step out, then calls for Suzy to hop out.

He clips the leash onto Suzy’s collar, hands the leash to Alina and they all head towards the mall—Steve and Bucky going towards the grocery store and Alina taking Suzy to the pet store.

As they walk, Steve reaches out and takes Bucky’s left hand, curling his fingers around the prosthetic fingers.

“Hey, Barnes?”

“Yeah?”

“Nice driving.”

*             *             *

Steve is spending lots of time researching career options on the internet and asking people around him for advice.

He really doesn’t have any ideas of what he wants to do—he just knows he wants to help people.

But he quickly realizes that isn’t enough to narrow down his options. Most of the people in his life are doing jobs where they help people—Sam, Natasha, Mandeep, Jemisha—but in different ways.

Sam offers to connect him with somebody at the VA who works in vocational rehabilitation and employment, but Steve doesn’t like the idea of taking resources from current veterans. But the idea of career counselling sounds like a good idea, so he finds an employment assistance center and makes an appointment with one of the counsellors.

He meets with a nice older man who explains to him that before he can start compiling a list of possible careers, he needs a better list of criteria of what he does and doesn’t want to do. Without such a list, the options available to him are too numerous for him to narrow down.

So Steve spends a few days sitting at the kitchen table working on a list while Bucky practices coloring in sketches with his left hand or doing the typing program.

They determine that he wants to do something that helps people, but he doesn’t want to spend years at school. But he is willing to do some training if it’s required. They determine he would be happiest doing something active but he definitely wants to be home every night. They come up with other criteria after Steve takes some of the online personality quizzes that the counsellor had recommended.

With his new list in hand, he starts refining his search.

It still leaves him with too many options, but he has an easier time dismissing options.

One afternoon Bucky’s out driving with Sam, and Natasha is sitting at the table on the computer, scrolling through the document where Steve has been putting all of his research.

Steve’s rolling up sushi rolls. His full attention’s on the roll so he doesn’t understand what Natasha says when she first suggests it.

“What about being a first responder?”

The end of his prawn tempura is trying to slither its way out of the roll, so he adjusts his grip and uses his pinky to shove it back in.

“What?”

“Your career options. You want to help people and want something that’s active—being a first responder would be perfect.”

“I don’t wanna be a cop, Nat. It’s too close to what I’ve spent my life doing.”

“Firefighter?”

They had come across firefighter as an option a few days ago. “Buck doesn’t like it. Says it’s too dangerous. It’ll make him worry too much.”

“Okay, what about a paramedic?”

He’s finished the roll and gently removes the bamboo mat from his creation. He wets a knife with water and slices the roll into even pieces.

Each slice stays intact.

He does a little happy dance, then slides the pieces onto a plate and hands it to Natasha.

She goes to their cutlery drawer and takes out a pair of chopsticks and grabs the soy sauce from the sauce rack. Steve focuses on making a roll for himself and another for Bucky so he’s too busy to give Natasha’s suggestion much thought until he’s done.

When they’re both sitting and eating, Steve frowns. “Doesn’t that take a lot of school? I know back in my day medics didn’t have to have a lot of schooling, but these days they do.”

She shakes her head, dipping a piece into the little soy sauce dish and popping it into her mouth. “You’re thinking of an army doctor. Those are basically the same as regular doctors. That takes a lot of schooling. I’m thinking of paramedics. You know—drive the ambulances with the sirens and the flashing lights?”

“I know what they are, I just don’t understand—they’re not doctors?”

“No. They’re responsible for stabilizing people and getting them to the hospital.”

“Then what?”

“Then they leave the person with the doctors and they go out and get another person. That’s it. You’d need to do some courses but nothing as intense as being a doctor or even a nurse.”

“I kind of did stuff like that in the army and for SHIELD.”

“Exactly. You’ve got some basic first aid training. That’s the same kind of training you’d get, but you’d have to do more advanced stuff too.”

That—that sounds like a good idea.

A really good idea.

“You’re sure it doesn’t take years of schooling? Because it’s been a long time since I’ve been in school.”

“I don’t know the details, Rogers, but that’s what the internet’s for. Look it up. But I don’t think it’s that bad.”

So Steve turns the computer so it’s facing him and he starts researching.

And he researches.

And researches.

The more he reads, the more he starts realizing he can actually picture himself doing this. Natasha helps him at the beginning, but then she leaves him to it. She cleans up the dishes from their lunch, then tells him she’s heading out.

Steve starts walking her to the door, but she shoves him back to the table with a laugh. “Get back to the computer before you run out of steam! And let me know what happens. If you don’t like the paramedic idea, I can think of some other things.”

So Steve goes back to the computer. Time flies by and before long he’s got about seventeen web pages open and two documents of notes going.

By the time Bucky gets home, Steve’s answered most of the questions he had when Natasha had first suggested it. But first:

“Buck—what do you think about me being a paramedic?”

Bucky’s pulling off his rain jacket. He toes off his boots and frowns. “Doesn’t that take years of schooling?”

“Nope. That’s for doctors and nurses.”

“They ain’t doctors?”

“No. They stabilize people and keep them stable until they’re at the hospital.” Thank you, internet.

It’s a sign that he’s intrigued when Bucky comes over to the table to peer over his shoulder, prioritizing the reading over dealing with his hair, that’s wildly sticking out from the cap he’s still got on his head.

He’s reading over some of the notes Steve’s taken. “Schooling only takes a few months?”

“Yeah. There’s a lot of schools that offer the program around here.”

“That sounds doable. What’s EMT?”

“Emergency Medical Technician. The first round of schooling lets you be an EMT.”

“That ain’t a paramedic?”

“No. To be a paramedic you gotta have work experience and do more schooling. They do more advanced stuff.”

“Do you gotta have medical schooling to start it?”

“Nope. They teach you everything. Some if it’s stuff that I’ve already done. They’ll recertify my first aid certification that expired a while back. It’s all part of the course.”

Bucky’s chewing on his lip. “Isn’t it dangerous though? You’ll be helping people who have been shot—which means the people who shot them might still be there.”

“That’s what the police are for. They’ll go in first, deal with it, then the EMTs go in.”

Bucky makes a face. “It’s still dangerous.”

Steve smiles. “So is biking on the road. So is driving a car. So is taking Achilles for a walk.”

“This is a bit more dangerous than biking, Rogers. You’ll be dealing with some crazy people.”

Steve sighs. “Yes, but I don’t wanna work in an office building, licking envelopes.”

Bucky smiles. “Alright, fine. You’re excited, so I’ll be the good, supportive husband. Let’s do this.”

Steve grins and gives him a kiss. “Thanks, Buck.”

“By the way, if you end up not liking it, that’s fine. You don’t gotta stick with it if you don’t like it.”

“I know.”

“Good. Did you make me a sushi roll? I can smell the soy sauce.”

“Of course I did. What kind of husband do you take me for?”

Bucky chuckles. “First, come help me with my hair. It’s a disaster.”

Steve saves his work on the computer and gets up to follow Bucky to the bathroom.

Steve rubs a towel through Bucky’s hair, combs the tangles out and puts it up in a ponytail.

Bucky turns his head side to side to inspect his hair in the mirror, then he reaches around to smack Steve lightly on the hip. “Perfect. Thanks, Rogers.”

Steve kisses Bucky’s neck. “I’m always aiming to please.”

*             *             *

He’s worried that he won’t end up getting into any of the programs, so he applies to all of the programs that have a start date in the upcoming semester.

Georgetown is the first to respond. They send him an email requesting him to come in for an interview. He’s a nervous wreck before and during the interview.

Bucky goes with him and waits on a bench outside the building while Steve’s inside doing the interview.

It ends up going better than he thought it would—they ask him why he wants to do the program, what his medical background is and why he thinks he’d be well suited to be an EMT.

Their faces don’t give anything away and they inform him they’ll let him know via email whether he’s been accepted or not.

He doesn’t know how he could have answered the questions any better, and Bucky agrees.

“If they won’t take you, they don’t know a good thing when they see it, which means you’re better off without them. You ain’t need such nitwits in your life.”

Steve obsessively checks his email every hour for several days, until finally an email from Georgetown University appears.

In a fit of panic, he throws the phone and it lands on the couch between him and Bucky.

“What’s up, Rogers? The wonder machine start smoking or what?”

“Georgetown answered.”

Bucky’s head whips away from the factory show they’re watching and stares at Steve. “Open the email, Rogers!”

“I can’t!”

“ _Why?_ ”

“What if it’s a no?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “We’ve got two other schools on the go still, and if they all don’t work out, we’ll move somewhere else and try again.”

Alright.

Everything’s okay. They have a backup plan, ready for implementation if this one fails.

He picks up his phone and slowly taps open the email. He reads it out loud, wanting to share the news—good or bad—with Bucky.

“ _Dear Steven Rogers,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to the Georgetown Emergency Response Medical Service Program at Georgetown University for the Fall 2017 semester_ —”

Steve drops his phone and lets out a cheer, turning to Bucky, who’s grinning, hands flailing. They grab each other, poking and jostling each other until they nearly fall off the couch.

Steve catches them on the coffee table and pushes them back to the couch.

“I’m in, Buck! I’m in! I’m gonna be an EMT!”

Bucky grabs his face and peppers it in kisses, then wraps him in a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart! So proud! You’re gonna be an EMT!”

*             *             *

Once school starts, Bucky accompanies him for his first day, helping Steve get his student card and walking Steve from class to class.

Steve’s nerves settle pretty quickly and he feels confident enough to go by himself on the second day.

Bucky changes his schedule so he wakes up the same time as Steve and they prepare breakfast and lunch together. Steve packs up his lunch and heads off to school. Bucky spends time doing chores, going to physio or therapy and either takes dogs for a walk or bikes around. A few times a week he goes driving with Alina or Sam.

Once Steve’s home from school, they make dinner and Bucky watches television while Steve does his homework or sketches. Whenever Steve has a quiz or test, Bucky will help him study and ask him questions, but the rest of the time, Bucky tries to give him peace and quiet so he can focus.

Bucky’s thrilled that Steve’s moving forward at such a great pace, but…

As the weeks go by, Bucky finds himself getting bored.

His time had been filled with medically related appointments and Steve, so now that Steve’s in school and his appointments have slowed down, he’s finding the days a bit longer than before.

They had started brainstorming things that he could look into doing, but they haven’t come up with anything concrete yet. He’s careful not to make a big fuss at home—he doesn’t want to do anything that will cause Steve any unnecessary worry when he needs to be focusing on school.

While on a walk with Suzy, Bucky sees a young woman walking towards him with a dog. She’s wearing a shirt that says ‘Washington Humane Society Volunteer’ on it. Intrigued, he stops Suzy and asks her what her shirt is referring to.

“Oh, I volunteer to walk dogs for the adoption center.”

“Which adoption center?” he asks. He has no idea what she’s talking about.

She points. “The one two blocks over?”

“They need dog walkers?”

“Oh, yeah. All the time. All the dogs who are at the shelter waiting to be adopted need to be walked and the staff have way too much work to do, so they look for volunteers who can help.”

That sounds right up Bucky’s alley.

“How do you become a volunteer?”

“Go online. There’s a form you fill out. You can say on the form what volunteering work you want to do and then they’ll be in touch with you.”

“What are the chances they’ll take me?” he asks.

“Can you walk dogs on weekdays?”

He sure can. “Oh, sure.”

“Then they’ll probably call you two minutes after your application goes through,” she laughs.

He thanks her and looks down at Suzy. “I think I found myself something to do, Suzy! You ready to go home? Alina’s not home yet, but you can come stay with me. You can help me fill out the application form.”

She wags her tail at his happy tone and he smiles and pets her head. “You can be a reference for me, okay? I’ll give you extra treats if you don’t mention the time I tripped over your leash in the park, okay?”

*             *             *

He’s filled out the application form by the time Steve gets home, but he asks Steve to look it over before he sends it in. Under ‘Occupation’ he’d read through all the options and then picked ‘Homemaker’.

“It’s too bad they have it as a drop-down menu and not a typing question. I would have put ‘House-Husband’. I like that better than Homemaker.”

Steve is drinking a glass of water and he snorts half of it up his nose from laughing too hard.

Bucky pats him on the back and removes the glass from his hands. “Calm down, Rogers. Jesus, you’d think my humor was something new to you. Keep reading the form.”

Steve calms down enough to keep reading. There’s a section that asks about the applicant’s prior volunteering experience, which Bucky has left blank.

“That’s not true, Buck. You should put your dog walking experience down. Aside from Ed Baker giving you ten bucks, nobody else pays you. That’s volunteer work.” He reads further down the form. “And you should put that under the special skills section too.”

For his references Bucky’s put down Alina and Ed. He wanted to put down Steve, but Steve tells him it’s better if he puts down people who aren’t family.

Once they’re satisfied, Bucky pays the $25 application fee and sends it in.

He gets an email response the very next morning when Steve’s already in school. They inform him his application’s been accepted and he can come in that day for training.

Since it’s Thursday, he’s got his therapy appointment, so he emails them back and asks if he can come in tomorrow instead.

Then he sends Steve a text saying ‘ _I’m going to training tomorrow!_ ’ followed by a bunch of smiley faces.

Steve sends him back a thumbs up a few minutes later.

*             *             *

He shows up at the adoption center a few minutes early. He’s wearing his usual dog walking jeans and Steve’s put his hair up with two elastics so it’ll stay put.

He goes to the front desk and gives the woman behind the desk a smile. “Hi. I’m James. I’m a new volunteer? I was told to come in today for training.”

She smiles. “Oh, great! My name’s Jenn,” she says, sticking her hand out for them to shake. “Welcome! What kind of volunteering did you want to do?”

“Uh, dog walking. But I can also help with the dog kennel cleaning?”

“Okay, great. We’re just finishing cleaning the kennels now, so you can either have a seat until the walking time starts or you can come back and start training?”

“I can get started now, that’s fine.”

“Great! Let me get you a shirt first.” She disappears into another office room and rummages around in a large cardboard box. She comes back and hands him the same shirt he’d seen the volunteer wearing.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall where you can change.”

He heads to the bathroom and swaps his own shirt with the new one. It fits nicely and he’s so glad he’s gotten accustomed to wearing short sleeved shirts.

“It fits?”

“Yup. Perfectly.”

“Great. Please always wear the shirt when you volunteer.” She claps her hands. “Alright, ready to get to work?”

“I sure am.”

Bucky follows her behind the desk and through a back door. The first thing that hits him is the noise. It sounds like a hundred dogs barking at the same time.

Bucky’s ear start ringing and he’s already regretting his decision, when he becomes aware of Jenn holding a pair of headphones towards him, indicating that he should put them on. He does, and it blocks out most of the barking. He can now focus enough to look around.

They’re in a narrow hallway and both sides contain rows of dog kennels. Bucky can hear chainlink rattling from dogs jumping against the doors. Each kennel contains one dog and there’s a clipboard hanging on the door with information about the dog.

Jenn leads him to a woman who is hosing out one of the kennels. She introduces her as Tammy and then leaves them.

They must look funny—both him and Tammy are wearing big headphones and have to shout to hear each other over the cacophony of the barking dogs, but at least his ears aren’t ringing anymore.

Tammy asks him if he’s ready to get to work, and Bucky willingly jumps right in. First thing in the morning is always feeding each dog and taking everybody out for a quick pee. Tammy’s already finished that. The next step is cleaning each kennel that contains a dog.

She shows him how to clean the kennels, how to refill the water bowls and where clean doggy beds and towels are kept.

He’s very happy he’s been working so hard at physio, because he quickly realizes the work is physically demanding. Lots of walking, lots of bending, lots of lifting and lots of carrying, but he quickly gets into a rhythm.

He actually doesn’t spend any time with the dogs during the cleaning, but once he and Tammy are done the kennels, she tells him it’s walking time.

She indicates on the information hanging on the kennel clipboards which dogs are okay for volunteers to walk and which ones are “staff only”. The clipboards also contain behavior sheets where other dog walkers or kennel cleaners have made observations about the dog’s behavior.

“You only need to walk the dogs you’re comfortable walking. So if you read something on the behavior sheet that worries you, or there’s information that says something specific needs to be done for the dog and you’re not comfortable, then do another one. It’s no problem.”

His training will be done with an older, gentle dog called Harry. He retrieves Harry’s collar and a leash, grabs the other supplies he needs and locates Harry’s kennel. He lets himself in, greets a happy Harry and once they’re all ready, they head out into the sunshine.

The shelter has very specific rules about what dog walkers can and can’t do while walking the dogs, so Tammy explains and demonstrates as they walk.

They do a few loops around the block, let Harry do his business and head back inside. While standing outside, Bucky can hear that the dogs have settled down, but the second they open the door to the shelter and step into the hallway, the dogs start barking again.

Tammy explains that they’re all desperate for attention and are competing with each other for the attention of whoever walks into the hallway. Older dogs tend to be less vocal but even the elderly ones start getting into the competition if they sense that the louder barkers are getting something they aren’t.

He’ll get used to it, she says. He just has to make sure he puts on his hearing protection.

Tammy shows him on a whiteboard how he needs to indicate that Harry has been walked that morning so everybody can keep track of who has been walked and who hasn’t.

“So, that’s basically it. Let me take you for a quick tour of the rest of the shelter.”

She leads him around the shelter, showing him where the cats and other small animals are housed, the isolation rooms where sick animals are kept until they recover, the medical room, the kitchen where food is prepared and the staff lunch room.

“Do you have any questions?” Tammy asks.

“No, I’m good,” Bucky says, giving her a smile. “Thank you.”

They part ways—Tammy heads off to clean the cat kennels and Bucky heads back to the dog area. He takes his time greeting each dog and reading the information sheet on each one, curious to learn their backstories.

There’s Jessie, the six year old English Mastiff who was a transfer from Maryland. Jessie’s one of the louder barkers and a note in her sheets indicate that she enjoys socializing with dogs but due to her strength and enthusiasm she can be difficult to walk.

Bubba is a ten year old Labrador Retriever who was surrendered by her owners a few days ago when they could no longer care for her. She’s sad and withdrawn and stays curled up on her doggy bed, despite Bucky holding out treats for her. She reminds him of Steve on his bad days. Sure enough, when he reads her behavior sheet, he notes that the staff members believe she’s depressed and withdrawn, missing her family. They request that volunteers spend quiet quality time with her whenever possible.

MacGyver is a three year old Husky who was rescued from an abusive home. Due to an ongoing court case regarding his custody, he’s not currently available for adoption. MacGyver is one of the barking participants, until Bucky crouches down outside his kennel and speaks to him, then MacGyver retreats to the corner of his kennel and cowers, ears laid back and growls softly. His notes indicate that he can be reactive to both people and dogs so he’s a “staff only” dog.

Bucky finishes getting acquainted with everybody, then takes Jessie for a walk, hoping to burn off some of her excess energy. Once they’re back, he tries to coax Bubba to go for a walk, but she doesn’t budge from her bed. So Bucky sits down next to her and pets her, speaking to her softly. While he’s spending time in her kennel, the rest of the dogs realized there’s no point in competing for his attention at the moment, so they quiet down.

Once he’s done spending time with Bubba, he takes one of the other dogs for a short walk, then he says goodbye to the staff and heads home.

He keeps his volunteer shirt on and proudly shows it to Steve when he comes in the door.

“Buck, I’m so proud of you! That’s fantastic! So tell me about the dogs.”

Bucky opens the shelter’s webpage and goes to the adoption section and pulls up the dogs that are currently at the shelter (not including dogs like MacGyver). He scrolls through and tells Steve about the dogs he’d spent time with.

When he’s talking about Bubba, Steve can tell that her sadness has rubbed off on Bucky. He pulls Bucky into his arms and gives him a kiss.

“I’m sorry she’s having a rough time, Buck. But you spent some quality time with her and that’s the best you can do. It’s like when I’m having a bad day—you spend time with me and you give me love and support and that’s the best you can do.”

“I know. I just wish she had a nice home to be in, not a kennel.”

Steve kisses his forehead. “Hopefully she’ll be adopted soon.”

Bucky buries his face in Steve’s shirt. “I hope so too,” he mumbles into his shirt.

*             *             *

When Bucky arrives at the shelter the next Monday for his shift, he immediately checks to see which dogs are there. To his delight, Jessie and Harry have both been adopted. MacGyver is still there since his court case is ongoing, and unfortunately Bubba is also still there. She’s a little more active than last Friday. When Bucky shakes the treat bag and talks to her in an excited voice, she stands up and seems to grow more lively.

He puts the collar and leash on her and they head out for a walk. She’s not very interested in smelling things and mainly just focuses on getting her business done, but once they’re back at the shelter door, she throws on the brakes. She starts whining and digs in her claws, refusing to go back in.

Bucky has to pick her up and carry her in, his heart aching when she whines and cries. He mumbles apologies into her fur as they make their way down the hallway. He puts her back into her kennel and then cuddles with her until she’s quiet. He can tell by her eyes that she’s gone back to being depressed.

It makes him want to cry.

He goes home and tells Steve he wants to bring Bubba home.

Steve gives him a long look. “Buck...listen, I know that you care about her. I know seeing her like this is upsetting, but you can’t bring home every sad dog that you come across. There’s gonna be another Bubba at the shelter next week and the week after that.”

“You didn’t see her, Steve!”

“I know. I think that’s good because if I do see her, I’ll bring her home. And Buck we can’t go down that road. If we bring one of them home, we’re gonna feel guilty for not bringing the others home too. We can’t have a hundred dogs live with us. I wish we could, but it’s not physically possible.”

Steve looks like he’s on the verge of tears. Bucky wants to cry too. “I can’t just leave her like that!”

Steve bites his lip. “You’ve got two options. If it’s too difficult, you can always stop volunteering—”

Bucky recoils. “I’m not gonna just abandon—”

“No, Buck. If it’s too upsetting, then you don’t have to keep going. There’s a reason a lot of people don’t volunteer in places like that. It’s too upsetting for them. There’s nothing wrong with quitting if it’s too much. You tried and that’s all that matters.”

“What’s my other option?”

“You want her to have a good home, right? So help her find one. The staff said you guys can post pictures and things, right? Why don’t you make a twitter account and put up some pictures of her? You can make flyers and put them around the neighborhood.”

That makes Bucky feel better. He makes flyers that he posts around the neighborhood and talks to the people whose dogs he walks, telling them about Bubba and asking them if they know anybody who’s looking for a dog. He buys himself a bunch of plain shirts and packages of iron-on letters and goes to Alina’s to use her iron. He writes ‘Ask me about adopting pets!’ on the back of each shirt and he wears them when he’s walking the neighborhood dogs. He does get quite a few people stopping him to ask him questions and he tells them about the animals currently at the shelter and how they can start the adoption process. He’s not qualified to decide whether somebody can provide an appropriate home for an animal or not, but he can point them towards the shelter where the staff can take over.

A week later, Bubba has been adopted. Bucky doesn’t know if his own efforts had anything to do with it, but he doesn’t care. He’s just so happy that she’s going to her forever home where she can be happy.

As the weeks go by, Bucky finds it easier to cope with the dogs who don’t adjust well to shelter life. On average, each dog spends less than two weeks at the shelter, unless they have an illness or surgery they need to recover from first, or they are part of a court case.

Whenever they have puppies at the shelter, they’re adopted within a few hours. The older dogs, specifically the ones who have behavioral problems or require specialized care have a harder time finding their forever homes, but things keep moving along.

Bucky settles into his new routine and happily spends his days either with animals and Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Georgetown University does have an EMT program (offered by the Georgetown Emergency Response Medical Service department - which has the hilarious abbreviation 'GERMS') but other details about the school will be kept as vague as possible since I know nothing about Georgetown.
> 
> The Washington Humane Society does exist. All paperwork related info (ex. volunteer application form) was taken from the Washington Humane Society webpage; however, I based the actual day-to-day running of the shelter and the responsibilities of volunteers on my own volunteering experience at a Canadian SPCA.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Mockingjaybee.

He folds a pair of Steve’s cargo shorts and tosses them on the Steve pile.

“Buck?” Steve yells from the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

“When you’re done with the laundry, do you have time to help me study?”

“Of course.” Bucky eyeballs the pile of unsorted laundry on his bed versus the stacks of folded clothes. “Give me ten more minutes.”

He grabs one of his own sweaters, folds it and puts it on his pile. The next item is one of Steve’s jeans, which are folded and end up on Steve’s pile. Then there’s a green shirt which doesn’t have a designated owner, so Bucky looks at who has less clean shirts at this point and ends up adding it to Steve’s pile.

When he’s done, he yells for Steve to come pick up his stuff. He puts his own clothes away while Steve takes away his stuff. The laundry basket gets put away and Bucky wanders into the living room and waits for Steve.

Steve comes out of his room and he’s frowning. “Can I practice physical skills on you, Buck?”

Bucky smirks at him. “Didn’t we do that this morning?”

Steve laughs and rolls his eyes. “I’m being serious.”

“Okay, okay. Of course you can. What do you need me to do?”

“Can you lie down on the floor and then I’ll practice CPR on you?”

“You sure do ask a lot of me, don’t you? I mean—the amount of effort you expect me to put into things all day, every day—”

Steve snorts. “I know—your sacrifices are noted and will be remembered until the end of time, Barnes.”

Bucky laughs quietly and lies down on the floor. “What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing. You’re pretending to be unconscious, so you need to stay still.”

Bucky obediently lies still while Steve kneels down beside Bucky and tilts his head back and checks his pulse.

It’s clear that Steve’s trying to stay as far back from Bucky as possible while doing the steps, but when he starts pretending to give Bucky “breaths” from about a meter away, Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Rogers, I’m fine. You can lean in as close as you want. I’m okay, I promise.”

Steve looks down at him with a worried frown. “You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. You’ll know when I’m not. I’ve been okay being in these situations for a while now, you know that. Especially if the person looming over me is you.”

So Steve goes through the steps again, but this time he leans over Bucky and puffs a breath against his cheek while ‘giving him breaths’ and puts his hands on his chest while he’s pretending to push down during chest compressions. He runs his hands along Bucky’s torso, arms, legs and head while doing some sort of assessment.

Bucky’s thrilled that he feels no panic at all. In fact, he feels comfortable and lazy. When Steve repeats the process, it’s clear that he doesn’t need Bucky to participate, so Bucky closes his eyes and lets himself relax, letting Steve move his limbs the way he needs them.

Finally, Steve’s satisfied with that scenario. “Okay, can you help me with another one?”

“Sure.”

Steve goes to get his textbook. He’s frowning again. “Buck, can you chose a scenario?”

Bucky props himself up on his elbows so he can peer at the book. “Sure. Is there a list?”

Steve points at the summary of one of the chapters where several trauma scenarios are listed that are covered in that chapter. “Can you do one of those?”

Bucky reads them over. They’re all first aid related scenarios. “Can I do a bleeding one?”

“Sure. Let me get my bandages.” Steve gets up and retrieves a bag of medical supplies that the school had given him to practice with.

In the meantime, Bucky’s read over the scenarios, and he starts grinning when he sees that ‘amputation’ is an option.

While Steve’s back is to him, Bucky reaches up and quietly unclicks his arm and puts it on the floor. Thankfully he’s wearing a short sleeved shirt. Oh, this is going to be fun.

Then he dramatically clutches at his anchor. “Help! Help! Please, sir! I’ve lost my arm! Oh, my God, the blood! My arm! Sir, I’ve lost my arm!”

Steve spins around, his face pale and eyes wide. Bucky keeps dramatically begging for help, but he shots Steve a big grin and winks at him.

Steve sighs and glares at him while he hurries to his side with his supplies.

“It’s alright, sir. I’m here to help you. My name’s Steve. What’s your name?”

“Spencer.”

“Okay, Spencer. Can you tell me what happened?”

So Bucky launches into a highly unrealistic story involving a space shuttle, ice cream and a horse, while Steve gets to work wrapping his left shoulder to ‘stop the bleeding’ and pretends to preserve his ‘severed’ arm in a container of ice.

Once they’re done practicing, Steve turns on the television and starts a baseball game that had recorded earlier that day. He settles himself back at the table with his textbook.

Since his arm is already off, Bucky gets the maintenance tool, pulls the cover off the arm and sits down at the table to tighten up some of the joints.

While they work, Bucky happens to glance at the bag of medical supplies that’s on the table next to his arm. He frowns when he sees a plastic face mask in the bag.

“Hey, Rogers?” Bucky tightens the knuckle joint of the pinky finger.

“Yeah?”

“Are you supposed to be using that mask when you’re practicing?”

“What mask?” Steve doesn’t look up from his textbook.

Bucky reaches over and pulls the mask out of the bag and waves it at Steve.

Steve makes a face. “Yeah, but I wasn’t gonna ask you to do that, Buck. I think that’s too much and this ain’t something that you have to do. You’re helping me and I don’t want you to be stressed out or having a hard time when it’s about helping me with homework. What do you think?”

Bucky puts the mask on the table and resumes his work on the finger joints.

“I think when I’m having a good day, we can try it.”

Steve smiles. “Okay.”

*             *             *

The minute he opens his eyes, Steve can tell he’s not feeling well. That familiar black cloud has settled around him and his limbs feel like they weight a hundred pounds each.

He closes his eyes, feeling exhausted. He realizes he has class today and immediately wants to cry. The thought of going to class makes his stomach twist with anxiety and just—he doesn’t want to go. He just—

He wants to stay in bed.

He thinks it over. Technically, if he’s feeling this tired, he doesn’t have to go, does he? It’s a legitimate excuse. He’s way too tired to focus.

And if he’s too tired to focus, there’s no point in going to class, right?

Right.

Having settled that dilemma, the anxiety starts to fade and he rolls over and goes back to sleep.

Five minutes later, he hears Bucky call his name from the kitchen.

He ignores him. He’s too tired to respond. Barnes can’t expect him to respond if he’s too tired, right?

Right.

He pulls the blankets higher around his ears.

“Rogers! I know you’re over a hundred, but I know your hearing’s fine. Or did you just forget how to tell time? Get up already, you lazy bum!”

An irrational surge of annoyance runs through him. Why the hell is Barnes yelling through the entire apartment? It’s none of his business if Steve wants to sleep instead of go to class. He’s an adult, he can decide whether he wants to stay in bed or not.

“Rogers! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

Steve pounds his fists in the blankets. “Shut the hell up, Barnes!” he yells towards the door.

Moments later, he hears Bucky walk towards the bedroom. He hears him stop in the doorway. “You okay?”

“I’m trying to sleep!” he snaps, not raising his head.

“You have class.”

“I’m not feeling good. I’m tired. I’m just gonna stay home.”

Bucky sighs softly. “I think you’re gonna feel way worse if you miss a class and have to make up the material.”

“It’s none of your damn business, Barnes!”

Why the hell can’t Bucky just leave him alone?

Bucky comes closer to the bed but doesn’t touch him. “Sweetheart, it’s your choice whether you go or not. But even if you feel like crap, I know you’ll feel worse if you let the depression win and keep you from class. Besides, you’re not gonna get any sleep—you’ll lie there feeling guilty over not going to class.”

“I’m tired, Buck.”

“And you’re annoyed and sad, I know. You don’t gotta be cheerful, you just gotta go to class. I’ll go with you. Come on, get up. Please.”

Steve doesn’t react. Bucky sighs. “Don’t let it win, Rogers. You don’t really wanna stay home, that’s what the depression wants.”

Still feeling irritated and angry, Steve’s first reaction is to tell Bucky to go to hell, but he restrains himself. It’s not Bucky’s fault.

He throws the blankets off himself but continues lying there.

Bucky reaches down and holds out both hands. “Grab on.”

Steve grabs his hands and Bucky hauls him out of bed. Steve goes and stands in front of his closet, staring at the wide assortment of clothes. He needs to pick clothes to wear. What kind of clothes?

His mind is completely blank.

He finds himself staring at the shirts.

Yes, a shirt would be good. But which one?

He stares at them, hoping one of them will just jump out of the closet.

The shirts stare at him.

He stares at the shirts.

He can’t get his brain to start moving.

Thankfully, Bucky reaches past him and pulls out clothes and shoves them into his arms. “Come on, Stevie. Get changed.”

He struggles to get changed, feeling so tired that he nearly keels over at one point, but Bucky’s there to hold him up and help pull the shirt down and do up his pants. Then they head to the bathroom. It would take Steve about an hour to remember what to do and to actually do it, but Bucky helps hand him things and nudges him in the right direction.

They head into the kitchen and Bucky steers Steve into a chair and slides a plate of food in front of him. Steve blinks at the food. “I ain’t hungry.”

“Eat half of it, please. You’ll feel worse later if you don’t have anything in your belly.”

So Steve listlessly picks up a fork and slowly shovels the food into his mouth. He chews and swallows without caring what’s actually going into his mouth.

Bucky’s anxiously looking at the time on the microwave. “Rogers, you gotta move a bit faster than that. Come on. You’ll miss the bus.”

“I ain’t taking the bus.”

“You ain’t driving when you’re like this. It ain’t safe. Come on, two more mouthfuls.”

Steve obediently eats a little more, then puts the fork down and stares at the table top.

Bucky’s hurrying around the apartment, stuffing Steve’s lunch and phone into his backpack, checking Steve’s class schedule on the fridge and going through his pile of textbooks to pick out the ones he needs for today. The books go into the bag and Bucky zips it up.

He hurries to Steve, pulls him up from the chair and fusses with his hair. “Alright, hurry up. Sweater on, jacket on, shoes on. Come on. Bus is almost here.”

Bucky helps get him fully dressed, then Steve’s being gently steered out of the apartment and outside. Once they’re at the bus stop, Bucky turns to Steve. “Stevie, do you want me to come with you or are you gonna be okay?”

The thought of Bucky coming with him just annoys him. “I ain’t a child, Barnes. I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“Okay.”

Bucky takes out his metro card, shoves it into Steve’s hand and gently squeezes Steve’s shoulders. “You’re doing so good, Stevie. I’m so proud of you. You’re not letting it win. Just go to class and sit there quietly and do the best you can. Try to stay focused, okay?”

The bus arrives.

This is his last chance. He can plant his feet if he wants to, purposefully make the bus leave without him and then he’ll be late for class. If he’s late then he might as well not go to that class. And if he doesn’t go to that class, what’s the point in going at all? Then he’ll get to spend the entire day in bed like he’d originally planned.

But Bucky’s looking at him, silently pleading with him to go.

So Steve swallows his annoyance and boards the bus.

He doesn’t understand why Bucky’s grinning and giving him a thumbs up through the window. He doesn’t feel like he did anything great. He’s moving farther away from his nice bed and going to a place with people and noise and other annoyances. Nothing about this is a win to him.

When he gets to school he makes his way to his classroom and takes his usual seat. When people greet him, he manages to give them a strained smile but then tries to project as much of a ‘leave-me-alone’ attitude as possible so nobody bothers him.

He doesn’t participate in class like he usually does but he does try to focus. His brain keeps turning on and off at random times. Sometimes he’ll be following what the instructor is saying, at other times he’ll realize he’s been staring at his desk doing nothing and thinking about nothing for five minutes. The entire time he’s just exhausted and wants to cry at how unfair the whole thing is and how tired he is of the world in general.

He chooses a secluded area to have lunch, hoping to have some quiet.

He’s left alone for the most part, but then two chattering students sit on the bench across from him. He glares at them, hating that they’re disturbing his peace and quiet.

He wants to yell at them to go away. He nearly opens his mouth to do it, but catches himself.

It’s not him who wants the students gone, it’s troll.

And troll isn’t allowed to win.

Steve stares at an empty spot beside the couch he’s sitting on.

He imagines troll standing there, goading him on, urging him to yell at the students.

 _No_ , he thinks.

I’m not doing it. I don’t care how angry I am, I ain’t yelling at two people who have every right to be sitting on that bench. I ain’t doing it. You can’t make me.

He glares at troll for good measure. Then he packs up his lunch and goes to find a different bench to sit on.

As he walks away, he throws a glare over his shoulder, aiming it towards troll.

 _You can stay right there and rot for all I care_ , he thinks.

Troll follows him to the rest of his classes, but he stays surprisingly quiet and Steve finds he’s able to focus a bit better. But the end of the day still can’t come soon enough. He’s so exhausted that he nearly falls asleep in his last class.

Finally classes are done and he heads to the bus stop. He wants his bed and to be left alone for the rest of the day.

As he’s walking, somebody bumps into him and rage flares up in his chest. He’s about to bump them back, but he manages to catch himself.

_No._

He clenches his jaw and glares at troll, who’s gleefully rubbing his hands together and bouncing from one foot to the other. _Bump him back. Bump him back so hard he’ll fall down. It’ll be great! You’ll feel great! It’s that person’s fault for bumping into you in the first place._

 _No._ Steve glares at troll harder. It ain’t gonna happen, so you can just shut up.

That person is the stupid one! He deserves to get knocked down!

Steve stops walking and glares hard at troll.

That’s _enough_! Shut up, shut up, _shut up_! Go away!

The force of his mental outburst is enough to stop troll’s tirade and freeze him in his tracks.

A sense of calm starts replacing the anger and Steve continues towards the bus stop.

There’s somebody sitting on the bench at the bus stop and when Steve gets closer, he realizes it’s Bucky.

Bucky stands up when he sees him and grins at him. “Hey stranger! Fancy running into you here.”

One part of him feels annoyed that Bucky thinks he can’t get himself home by himself, but another part of him glows happily at seeing him. The irritation from the bumping incident immediately fades away.

“Hey, Buck. You didn’t have to come.”

“I know. I wanted to.” That’s when Bucky holds up a bag and pulls out a small box which Steve recognizes from their favourite bakery.

Steve manages the first genuine smile of the day when he takes the box and opens it to see his favourite chocolate fudge cupcake. Bucky hands him a wad of napkins and Steve happily eats his cupcake.

The bus arrives and Steve gets on, swiping Bucky’s card with one hand while holding his cupcake with the other. He finds a seat and watches Bucky paying his fare with cash and coming down the aisle to him.

Bucky stops beside him, looking at the empty seat next to him. “You wanna sit by yourself?”

Steve shakes his head. Bucky slides into the seat next to him but doesn’t touch him. They ride home in silence, Steve eating his cupcake and Bucky staring out the window.

Once they’re home, Steve’s finished his cupcake and he heads straight to bed. He burrows into his blankets and relief washes over him.

Bucky stops by and quietly asks if he wants company or if he should shut his door.

“Come cuddle, please. Let me tell you about troll today.”

Bucky crawls into bed with him and pulls him into his arms. “How was he? Loud?”

“Very. He was being very nasty today. But I got him to shut up before I did anything nasty.”

Bucky grins and jostles them happily. “Yay! You were the boss, Stevie! That’s great!”

“Wore me out.”

“That’s okay. Let’s have a nap and then we’ll watch some TV together, okay?”

“Okay.”

Bucky jostles them again. “Hey, guess what?”

“What?”

“I’m real proud of you, sweetheart,” he murmurs and kisses Steve’s neck.

*             *             *

One afternoon, Bucky’s upstairs, returning Achilles and Tobi to their owner Ed.

“Did they behave themselves?” Ed asks, helping Bucky remove collars and leashes.

“They always behave themselves. _Especially_ Achilles. He’s always such a calm, settled dog, he’s a great example for every other dog we pass.”

Ed burst out laughing and leans down to rub Achilles’ belly, who’s rolled onto his back and is splayed out in the entryway.

“You hear that, you troublemaker? James has to lie for you. That’s what you make him do. You’re a terrible creature, you hear me?”

James smiles and hangs up their leashes.

“Listen, James, do you mind if I ask something?”

“Sure. About what?”

“About cats.”

Bucky blinks. “Cats? Did you get one?”

“No, no. A friend of mine, Doreen, she lives a few blocks over and she has two cats. She’s going to visit her sister for a few days and she can’t find anybody who will take care of them.”

“I—I—we don’t have any cat stuff at our place,” Bucky says. He sometimes helps out with the cats at the shelter so he’s comfortable taking care of cats, but their apartment isn’t set up to house cats on a moment’s notice.

“Oh, no, sorry. I mean, would you be interested in looking after the cats at her place while she’s gone? It would just involve going over there a few times a day to feed them, clean litter boxes and play with them for a bit. She’d pay you, of course.”

Bucky blinks again. That sounds doable. “Uh, sure. Absolutely.”

Ed smiles, looking very pleased. “Great! You’re wonderful, James. Absolutely wonderful. Here, let me give you her number.” He scribbles a name and a phone number on a piece of paper and hands it over. He also pulls out the ten dollar bill that has become customary from him and hands that over too. “Just call her and tell her you know me.”

“Okay.”

Bucky puts the ten dollars and the paper into his pocket and turns to face the door.

“Can I ask another question, James?”

“Sure.”

“Why on earth don’t you charge more for your services?”

“My services?” Bucky doesn’t completely understand the question. “Uh, it’s never occurred to me to charge people.”

Ed laughs. “Son, there are many professional dog walking services in the city. They charge about $20.”

“Per week?”

“No, no—per day.”

“Per _day_?”

“Yes. Often that’s per dog.”

Bucky blinks. “I—I never really thought about it.”

“Look, I don’t want to pry, but if you’re looking for some extra income, I think you should start charging people. You could even put up some flyers and get your current customers to put out the word of mouth about your services and you could build yourself up a nice little client base.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“I—I—gee—I’d have to think about it, Ed.”

Ed holds up his hands. “It’s none of my business. I’m very happy you’re helping me with Achilles and Tobi. But if you’re ever interested in turning your hobby into an income, I would be happy to give you some pointers.”

Bucky is honestly taken aback by the entire conversation. He says goodbye to Ed, promises to call Doreen and then goes downstairs.

Steve isn’t at home when he lets himself in, so he passes the time by going online and checking up on these dog walking services which Ed talked about. Sure enough, there are quite a few of them. And they definitely charge more than ten dollars.

When Steve gets home, he barely waits for him to take off his jacket and shoes before he tells him about his conversation with Ed.

Steve listens and looks at the websites Bucky has found.

When Bucky’s done, Steve looks at him. Bucky looks at Steve.

“So, what are you thinking, Buck? Is this something you might be interested in doing, or does the whole thing freak you out?”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know. I never really thought about what I’d do for work.”

Steve looks worried. “Listen, you know you don’t have to work if you don’t want to, right? We’re fine. But if this is something you wanna do, then we’ll do it.”

“I think I do,” Bucky says, fidgeting with the slip of paper that has Doreen’s number on it.

“Okay. Well, how about making this Doreen lady one of your first customers? How much do you wanna charge her to look after the cats?”

Bucky makes a face and shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Steve leans over and scrolls down the website. “These people charge $25 for half an hour visits for 3 cats. She’s got two cats, so why not charge her $30 for an hour visit?”

“What if she says no?”

“Then negotiate.”

Bucky presses his lips together, suddenly feeling nervous.

Steve leans across the table and squeezes his hand. “You can do this, Buck. You’ve got nothing to lose. If she says no, you say thank you, goodbye, and you never have to speak to her again. Or you can change your mind and do it for free if that’s what you wanna do.”

Knowing he’ll just get more nervous the longer he waits, Bucky pulls out his cellphone and dials Doreen’s number.

It rings and an old lady answers. “Hello?”

“Hello. Uhm, this is James Barnes. I got your number from Ed Baker. He says you’d like somebody to look after your cats while you’re gone?”

“Oh, yes! Thank you very much for calling. I was getting so worried that I’d have to bring both of them to a boarding kennel while I’m gone. They’ve never been boarded before and they’re both senior citizens and aren’t fond of change.”

Bucky freezes, not knowing how to proceed.

Steve grabs a pencil and flips the note over to scribble ‘When?’ on it. Oh, right.

“When will you be gone, Doreen?”

“I’m leaving on the 12th and I’ll be back on the evening of the 16th.”

“12th to the 16th?”

“That’s right.”

Bucky makes a frantic hand gesture at Steve, who dutifully scribbles ’12-16’ on the paper. While Doreen continues speaking, Steve gets up and grabs a nearby sketchpad and flips it open. He scribbles Doreen’s name and contact number and the dates on it, then shoves the pencil and pad towards Bucky so he can continue making notes.

“I’ll be leaving early on the 12th and getting home quite late on the 16th, so could you do all five days?”

“Sure. No problem.”

“Now what do you charge?”

“Uh, $30.”

“$30 for the five days?”

He almost says yes, sure. But then he decides he’s worth more than $6 per day.

In this century anyway. “No. $30 per day.”

“I see. How much time will you be spending with the cats per day?”

Steve had said one hour, but what if that’s not enough? What if she gets mad? What if cats need more than one hour per day? “What would work best for them?”

“Doing two half an hour visits would be best. You can give them their breakfast, clean their litter boxes and play with them a bit, and then come back in the evening and do it again. That would be the best.”

That’s pretty much how the shelter operates too.

“Okay. So $30 per day for the 1 hour visit. Would that be okay?”

“Yes, that would be fine.”

“Uh, can I come by before you go so you can show me where everything is and your routines?”

“Of course! That would be wonderful. I can show you all of their favourite toys and you can meet both of the girls and get to know them. Are you available tomorrow?”

“Uh,” he thinks quickly. He was planning on going for a walk with Steve, Alina and Suzy in the morning and his therapy appointment’s in the afternoon, but he has time in between.

Jesus, when did he get this busy?

“Would a visit around noon work for you, Doreen?”

“Yes, noon would be good. Let me give you my address.”

He writes the information down, says his good-byes and finally hangs up the phone.

He lets out a long breath and stares at Steve.

“Christ, Rogers, when did I get this busy, huh?”

Steve grins. “It’s good, Buck.”

“We’ll see.”

*             *             *

The next morning, Steve and Bucky get back from their morning walk to the park and Bucky has a quick bath and pulls on his nice jeans and one of Steve’s nicer shirts. Steve jumps into the shower as soon as Bucky’s done and Bucky dries and combs his hair while Steve’s showering. They hurry through getting changed and head out the door at the same time—Steve heading off for an afternoon class and Bucky walking over to Doreen’s.

She’s a very nice elderly lady and she’s thrilled to see him. She introduces him to her two cats and shows him how she feeds them and how to clean their litter boxes. She explains their routines and what toys are their favourites.

Bucky crouches down and holds out a hand, letting both cats smell his hand. One of them smells his hand and then wanders away, but the other one butts his hand with her head and he gently scratches under her chin. Doreen is thrilled. “Oh, Petunia likes you! That’s great! Just ignore Octavia. When she’s in the mood to play, she’ll let you know. Otherwise she’ll just keep to herself.”

Bucky also offers to empty her mail box, water her plants and monitor her answering machine. She seems very happy with him and Bucky feels a lot less nervous at the end of the visit.

He hurries back home, changes into a more casual shirt and heads out to catch a bus to his therapy appointment.

*             *             *

Over the next week, Bucky approaches each of the people in their building who he provides dog walking services for and informs them he’s now charging for his services. Most are understanding and agree to pay him. Only one neighbor decides she doesn’t want his services anymore.

Even Alina and Ed insist on paying the new rate, even though Bucky would be perfectly happy keeping things as they are for both of them.

He charges slightly cheaper rates than the nearby dog walking services, making him an easy sell. For the time being, he’s happy to collect customers through word-of-mouth and he ends up getting a handful of regular customers. With only a few customers, it’s easy to keep his schedule manageable and he continues volunteering at the shelter, doing his physio and therapy and keeping all of his customers happy. Mainly he does dog walking in the mornings and evenings, and petsitting throughout the day.

It’s weird when he and Steve actually have to pull out the calendar to see when they’re both available to attend a baseball game together and they realize they’ll have to wait two weeks, but Bucky enjoys keeping busy.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the dogs in this story are based on real-life dogs I've encountered at the shelter I volunteer at. This chapter includes two pieces of art depicting Diesel, who will be an important character in the rest of the story.

“Hey, Stevie?”

They’re having a lazy Saturday morning in bed together. Steve’s still half dozing and neither of them have anything planned until later.

“Hmm?”

Bucky runs his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Are you listening?”

“Uh hmm.”

“I think I’m ready to stop going to physio and therapy every week.”

Steve blinks his eyes open and he suddenly looks wide awake. “Really?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t stop physio completely, but I can have monthly appointments instead of weekly ones. And Jemisha says she’s happy with my progress. The last few sessions we’ve mostly been chatting like old friends. There’s nothing wrong with that, but her time is valuable and the sessions are expensive and she asked me how I feel about stopping regular sessions.”

“How do you feel about it?”

Bucky smiles. “I feel good. Everything’s going real well and I love spending time with Jemisha, but I don’t need the regular appointments anymore.”

“You can still go see her if you need help with something, right?”

“Oh, yeah. She told me she can fit me in any time I need.”

Steve smiles. “Then it all sounds great.”

“Yeah?”

Steve leans over and kisses him. “Yeah,” he whispers against his lips. “I’m real proud of you, Barnes.”

Bucky grins. “You’re adorable in the mornings, you know that?”

“I was hoping it was time for less talking and more kissing now, since I took the time to compliment you and all that.”

Bucky chuckles and hooks a leg over Steve’s legs. “Come here, you charmer.”

*             *             *

“You want an easy question or a hard one?” Bucky asks. He’s got Steve’s textbooks propped open in front of him so Steve can’t peek at the pages of sample questions and answers he’s got spread out on the table. Steve has a test tomorrow, one of the last ones before the end of the program. They’ve been studying for days.

“Give me an easy one.”

“Okay—You’ve just arrived at the scene to find a 27 year old female complaining of anxiety and breathing difficulties. Which of the following questions would be most appropriate to ask? What’s your name? What day is today? Do you have a history of panic attacks? Or: How long have you been having trouble breathing?”

“What’s your name?”

“Good. Another easy one: Why does Nitroglycerin lower the blood pressure?”

“Because it dilates the vessels and reduces the preload on the heart.”

“Perfect! Okay, here’s a hard one. I’m not gonna give you the options, we’ll see how much you can get right without the choices. Here we go: what would be considered normal vitals for a child who is between 3 and 5 years old?”

“Uhm, 20 breaths a minute.”

“Good.”

“Pulse of 120.”

“Nope. Try again.”

“Damn—pulse of 100!”

“Good. Systolic BP?”

“110.”

“Last one: You’re called to a home of a 91 year old man—”

“You?” Steve interrupts with a grin.

Bucky laughs. “No, punk, I’m way over 91. Anyway, you’re called to a home of a 91 year old man— whose name is not James Buchanan Barnes—and he had a syncopal episode and is vomiting. His caretaker says the man’s bowel movements have been bright red since yesterday. The patient isn’t complaining of any pain but he’s nauseated. What is most likely wrong with him and what would be the appropriate treatment steps?”

“You gonna give me choices?”

“Nope. See what you can do.”

“Alright—he probably has a lower GI bleed.”

“Okay. Treatment steps?”

“Give him oxygen through a nasal cannula at…10 LPM?”

“Close. Lower.”

“4 LPM! Transport in a position of comfort and treat for shock.”

“Bonus question: Why use a nasal cannula and not a NRB?”

“He’s nauseated so if he throws up again, you don’t want him to have airway complications so a cannula’s safer.”

Bucky grins at Steve over the books. “You’re a damn genius, you know that? You’ve got this backwards and forwards.”

Steve smiles. “Hopefully.”

“You’ll do fine. And if you’re ever in doubt, just put ‘treat for shock’ and you’ll get at least part marks.”

Steve laughs, stretches and lets out a yawn. “Did that man with the poodle end up calling you back?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m walking his dog on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Same time as Tobi and Achilles, so it works out well.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You gonna do them at the same time?”

Bucky has been practicing walking more than two dogs at a time, but mainly he’s been practicing with Suzy, Achilles and Tobi, which works well because Achilles is the only excitable one of the bunch. Having two excitable dogs is going to be interesting.

“Hey, practice makes perfect, right?”

Steve smiles. “Absolutely. How was the shelter today?”

“Everybody’s good. Gordon got adopted.”

“That’s great! How’s Sugar?”

Bucky makes a face. “Doing as well as she can considering how cold it’s been.” Sugar’s a tiny, old Chihuahua who’s been at the shelter for a few weeks. She’s still surprisingly active for her age, but it’s the middle of winter and she’s got about as much body fat as Steve did before the serum. Bucky keeps her bundled up in a towel until they’re outside, puts her down long enough for her to do her business, and bundles her back up when they head inside.

“It’s supposed to get even colder this week,” Steve says.

“Damn. She’s gonna turn into an icicle if this keeps up. I wish people made dog clothes. That would be neat.”

Steve frowns thoughtfully. “Maybe we can make her some kind of blanket wrap that’s got holes for her feet?” He gets up and fetches the laptop.

He’s typing for a while, until he starts laughing. “Buck! Come here!”

Bucky walks around the table and peers over Steve’s shoulder at the screen.

He does a double take when he sees that the page is covered in tiny dogs wearing all sorts of tiny, doggy sized clothes.

“Oh, my God, Stevie, we need to get some of these for Sugar.”

Steve’s nodding, scrolling through the pictures. “Definitely.” He pauses and glances up at Bucky. “You wanna go right now?”

Bucky makes a face. “You don’t wanna study some more?”

“I’m feeling good about it. You think I’m ready?”

“I know you’re ready.”

“Then let’s go.”

They bundle up, jump on the bike and head to the pet store, where they spend way too much time trying to decide between different color options and materials.

*             *             *

Bucky brings the clothes to the shelter in a small bag and attaches the bag to Sugar’s collar on the wall.

He stays quiet about it until Tammy is fetching Sugar’s collar to take her outside. Bucky’s just bringing another dog inside and he sees her open the bag and frowning into it, before she starts smiling.

“Oh, my God! Who did this?” She looks around and spies James. “James! You bought Sugar clothes!”

He shrugs. “The poor thing is too tiny and skinny, she’s gonna turn into an icicle out there.”

Tammy presses her lips together, her eyes shining. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs again. “I wanted to.”

It takes Sugar some time to understand that Bucky wants to put the clothes on her and they’re not new chew toys, but once they’re on, she doesn’t seem to mind them and she doesn’t shiver as badly when they take her outside.

Bucky’s day gets even better when he gets a text from Steve saying _‘It went really well!’_ with a long line of smiley faces.

*             *             *

The weeks go by. Sugar is adopted by a wonderful woman and Steve finishes his program. Once he finishes all of his exams and is fully certified, he applies to various places around the city where EMTs are in demand.

Then all they can do is wait.

They go on more bike trips together and Bucky makes his road test appointment.

On the morning of the test, they take the bus to Sam’s place and Steve drives them to the DMV in Sam’s car.

Bucky’s incredibly nervous while he waits for his name to be called so he plays games on Steve’s phone to keep himself distracted.

Finally, a man comes into the waiting area with a clipboard and calls out his name. Steve squeezes his hand and takes his phone back. “You’ll be fine, Buck. Just take it slow.”

Bucky gets up and shakes the examiner’s name. He’s too nervous to catch the man’s name and numbly follows the man out into the parking lot. Once they’re seated, the man tells Bucky to get set up and to let him know when he’s ready.

Bucky takes a few deep breaths and looks through the windshield. He can see straight through into the DMV waiting room, where Steve is twisted around in his chair, smiling at him through the window and giving him a thumbs up.

Bucky smiles back and starts feeling more relaxed. He’ll be fine. He knows how to do this.

He double checks his seatbelt, pedals and mirrors, then nods at the examiner. “I’m ready, sir.”

“Excellent. Please start the car and back out of the parking space. We’ll be making a left turn out of the parking lot.”

*             *             *

The exam takes about 30 minutes. They wind their way through various streets, Bucky following turning instructions and carefully monitoring his speed and the road signs. They pass through a school zone, drive down a busy road where Bucky has to do several lane changes, and ironically, they even go through a roundabout.

At the end, they make their way back to the DMV and Bucky has to back into a parking spot. Then he turns the car off and tries to breathe as the examiner makes more notes on his clipboard.

Bucky can see Steve through the windshield again and he’s staring at Bucky with a worried frown, not knowing what Bucky’s blank facial expression means.

Finally, the examiner looks up from the papers. “Alright, that was good. Congratulations, James—you passed. Let’s head inside to finish the paperwork.”

A huge grin spreads over Bucky’s face—a grin that’s mirrored on Steve’s face as soon as he sees it.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You did very well.”

They undo their seatbelts and head inside. Steve hangs back when they come in, not wanting to intrude, but Bucky rushes over to him. “I passed!”

“That’s great, Buck! I’m so proud of you!” Steve wraps him up in a big hug and Bucky happily spins them around before he releases Steve and goes back to his examiner.

He signs some paperwork, has another picture taken and pays his fees.

The examiner hands him a small sheet of paper. “Congratulations, James. Here’s your temporary license. You’ll get your full license in the mail in about a week.”

“Thank you!”

Bucky turns from the counter and waves the paper in the air as he approaches Steve.

“Guess who’s a fully licensed driver, Rogers?”

Steve grins. “Is it me? I think it’s me.”

“You’re hilarious! Come on, let’s bring Mr. Wilson his car back.”

*             *             *

The week that Bucky passes his road test is the same week that Diesel arrives at the shelter. When Bucky arrives for his Wednesday shift, he does his usual round through the shelter, checking out who got adopted and who the new residents are.

He greets Max, a hyper 7 year old Border Collie, who’s barking and wagging his tail, very excited to see Bucky.

“Hey, buddy. Ready to go out for a pee? Just hang on, let me get your collar.”

It takes them a while to get outside because Max is more interested in jumping on Bucky and licking his face than going outside, but they manage.

Once they’re back in, Bucky moves to the next kennel.

He’s greeted by the largest dog he’s ever seen.

He’s a chocolate brown color and he’s so large that Bucky can’t even see the doggy bed that he’s lying on. The poor guy is covered in welts and scars and he’s got a bandage wrapped around his neck and on two of his legs. The dog moves his eyes when Bucky stops outside his kennel but doesn’t even raise his head.

“Good morning, big fella. Who are you? You’re new, huh?”

Bucky pulls down the clipboard and reads through the dog’s information.

His name’s Diesel and he’s a six year old Bullmastiff. He weighs 145 pounds and he was found lying on the side of the road. He’s got arthritis in his hind end and has difficulty walking for long periods. There’s a ‘special food!’ sticker next to his name, meaning that Bucky will have to check the list in the kitchen to see what he’s supposed to be eating.

Although nothing concrete is known about Diesel’s history, he had a deep wound around his neck when he was found, indicating that he’d been restrained with a chain for a long period of time, and the wounds and scarring on the rest of his body are a clear indicator that he’d been abused.

“Oh, buddy. You’ve had a tough time, huh?”

Bucky puts the clipboard back and enters the kennel, sitting down beside Diesel. He slowly raises his hand and brings it towards him. Diesel’s eyes follow the path of his hand and he starts trembling.

Bucky immediately lowers his hand. “Okay, no petting. That’s okay, buddy. You wanna come out for a pee?”

He doesn’t want to put a collar around Diesel’s neck—both because of the bandage, but he also thinks Diesel would probably not like having the collar around his neck.

“That’s alright, pal. I ain’t fond of restraints either.”

He leaves Diesel’s kennel and goes to find Tammy. He doesn’t see Tammy anywhere, but he runs into Jenn at the front desk and he asks her about Diesel.

Jenn sighs. “Yeah, he’s such a sweet boy, but he’s had such a hard time, the poor guy.”

“When did he arrive?”

“Friday afternoon. It’s been tough getting him outside, but we’ve been carrying him in and out. We’re hoping once his front legs have healed, he’ll be able to get around a bit easier.”

“What about the collar?”

“Oh, leave it off. He won’t go anywhere and honestly, the poor guy doesn’t need anything else around his neck.”

Alright, so he’ll have to give Diesel a hand. He heads back to Diesel’s kennel. When he gently runs his hands along Diesel’s back, he starts shaking again and his breathing quickens.

He’s scared.

Bucky sighs softly. “I’m so sorry, big guy. I won’t touch you if I don’t have to. Can you get up on your own?”

He tries coaxing Diesel to get up and Diesel valiantly tries getting his legs under himself, but he keeps whimpering every time he moves his bandages feet, and his hind legs are trembling badly.

“Alright, I’m sorry but I gotta help you, Diesel.”

Bucky tries to be as gentle as possible when he bends down and tries to pick him up.

It turns out that lifting 145 pounds of dog is a lot harder than he’d thought.

He nearly ends up falling onto Diesel before he catches himself. “Okay, sorry, buddy. Let me try that again.”

He wraps his arms more securely around the dog and manages to lift him up. He forces himself to ignore Diesel’s whimpering and struggles to adjust his weight in his arms so he won’t drop him.

He slowly lurches his way out of the kennel, down the hall and then gently puts Diesel down when they get to the door. He keeps a hold of Diesel’s mid section and waits while he gets his feet under him. Then Bucky opens the door and gently guides Diesel outside.

Diesel can walk, but it’s obviously very difficult for him. They don’t go any further than the small patch of grass just outside the door, and once he’s done peeing, they head back inside. Bucky picks him back up and they slowly make their way back down the hallway to his kennel.

Once he’s put Diesel back down, Bucky half collapses beside him.

Both of them are trembling from exertion—and for Diesel probably fear too—and take a few minutes to recover.

“Man, you are a big boy, aren’t you, Deeze?”

Diesel has gone back to lying on his doggy bed and is staring out the kennel door.

Bucky wants to stay with him longer, but there are other dogs that need his attention, so he lets himself out of the kennel and continues with his rounds.

When he’s in the kitchen getting the dogs food ready, he checks the list of special feeding requirements and discovers that Diesel has been having trouble digesting anything that has gluten or wheat in it, so he gets a special fish based food.

He readies a bowl of Diesel’s special food and portions out normal food for everybody else. Tammy comes into the kitchen and pulls out vegetables from the fridge for the rabbits.

“So I met Diesel,” Bucky says, opening another can of food and scooping out portions into a row of bowls.

“Did you get him outside okay?”

“Yeah. He wasn’t too happy with me touching him.”

She sighs. “It’s gonna be tough finding him a good home.”

Bucky already figured that. Between his medical issues, his size and his special dietary requirements, the list of suitable adopters for Diesel is going to be short.

When he gets home, he shows Steve Diesel’s adoption page on the shelter website.

Steve reads over his info, frowning as he reads. When he’s done, he presses his lips together and glances at Bucky.

“All hands on deck with this one, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Okay. You load the printer, I’ll make the posters.”

Nodding, Bucky heads to the printer to load the heavy poster paper in. Steve clicks open the word processing document and start making posters.

Diesel can use all the help he can get.

*             *             *

About two weeks later, Steve gets hired by the city. Throughout the entire screening process, he refuses to let Bucky celebrate, not wanting to get too excited in case it didn’t work out.

But the day he gets the phone call telling him that he’s officially being offered a position, he can’t keep the smile off his face. Bucky’s lying on the couch watching TV, but he mutes it as soon as he figures out who’s on the other end of the phone.

Steve finishes the conversation, thanks the HR director and then hangs up. He drops his phone on the table and looks at Bucky, who’s grinning back at him.

“Guess who’s got a job?”

Bucky leaps off the couch and grabs Steve in a hug. They bump into the table so Bucky reaches down and hoists Steve onto the table so he can pull him even closer.

“I’m so proud of you, Stevie!” He mumbles into Steve’s shoulder.

“Me too, Buck. I couldn’t have done it without your help, you know that, right?”

Bucky pulls back and kisses him. “We’re a pretty good team, Rogers,” he whispers against Steve’s lips.

His first few shifts are ride-alongs where he tags along with a crew and only observes—

_“They let me turn on the sirens, Buck!”_

_“That’s so cool!”_

_“Twice!”_

_“That’s even cooler!”_

Then he’s officially put on the schedule and paired up with a paramedic named Yoo-Ra Seong.

It’s all fantastic and he’s over the moon about it—except that neither of them had really researched the type of shifts that Steve would be doing. Steve is a bit taken aback when he’s told he’s going to be working a mix of day and night shifts.

“Do all rookies start out with nights shifts?” Bucky asks when Steve calls him to tell him about it.

“Nope, it’s the standard schedule in DC.”

“Are you okay with it?”

Steve shrugs. Then he realizes Bucky can’t see him shrugging over the phone. “Sure. It’ll take some getting used to, but I can do it. The more important question is if you’re okay with it. We’re gonna have to adjust our schedules to make this work.”

“Don’t even worry about it. We’ll make it work.”

Steve hesitates. “You sure?”

“Absolutely. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

*             *             *

The adjustment he goes through for the next several weeks is more intense than anything he’s done before—including joining the army.

The work itself is gruelling and stressful at first. Dealing with radio communication again gives him a sense of déjà vu and he has to stop himself from using the military jargon that’s ready to trip off his tongue.

Driving through busy city streets with the siren blaring while transporting somebody whose life is literally in his hands also brings back memories from the war, but unlike in the war, he has to deal with the general public. He’s flabbergasted by the number of people who don’t get out of his way and don’t seem to care that somebody’s life is on the line if it’s interfering with their own activities. He becomes fond of the horn very quickly. Despite the fact that he’s lived in DC for a few years now, he still isn’t overly familiar with some of the busier roads, and there are entire parts of the city he’s never even been to.

The paperwork also takes some getting used to, but the steepest learning curve by far is the people.

In most cases, the calls they get are not life-threatening situations—in fact, if they were on the battle field, Steve would tell most of them to toughen up and deal with it on their own—but they insist on receiving treatment and getting a ride to the hospital. In many cases where the person’s life is at serious risk—drug overdoses, gunshot or stab wounds, car accidents—the patients don’t want to have anything to do with Steve or a hospital.

Yoo-Ra is a fantastic paramedic and also a great teacher. Within a few weeks, Steve starts getting the hang of what to expect, what to say to whom and where everything is. When a nurse at one of the hospitals greets him by name, he knows he’s starting to settle in.

His home life does suffer during his adjustment period. He’s so exhausted after shifts that he barely manages to get himself home before he’s falling into bed. He’s so mentally drained that even when he’s awake, he just lies on the couch or eats whatever Bucky puts in front of him.

Bucky is his lifeline. Somehow, food always appears when Steve’s hungry, an appropriate change of clothes is set out whenever he needs to switch from one thing to another, his laundry is getting done, his bed is always made and his favourite shows are always recorded.

“Buck, I’m being a terrible husband,” he says one afternoon when he’s woken up after getting home from a night shift. He’s wandered into the kitchen and a plate of food is waiting on the table for him.

Bucky rolls his eyes at him and kisses his forehead. “Hush up, you idiot. You’re going through a big adjustment. I can hold down the fort until things settle down.”

“We ain’t done more than cuddle for weeks.” Not that he has the energy to actually do more than cuddle, but he does feel bad for Bucky.

Bucky shrugs. “So? Plenty of time for that later. Sleep is more important for you right now. You worry too much, Rogers. Everything’s fine. Don’t worry. Things will settle down.”


	34. Chapter 34

And things do settle down.

It’s one of those quiet Thursday shifts where the shift is more than half-way done and they’ve only received three calls: an elderly woman who felt a bit queasy due to new medication, a hospital transfer, and a child who sprained his wrist at a park when he fell off a swing.

They’ve parked at a mall for lunch and it’s Yoo-Ra’s turn to pick up their order, so Steve’s slouching in the driver’s seat, keeping half an ear on the radio. He digs through his backpack and pulls out a small sketchpad and his pencils.

Last night Bucky had finally settled on a name for his rapidly expanding business.

_Bucky’s Buddies._

Steve thinks the name’s adorable.

He designed the flyers that Buck had used to attract his initial customer’s, but Steve thinks it’s time for him to get actual business cards. They’re stopped on the street a lot when people see Bucky walking with three to five dogs and get asked about his services. Bucky always carries a notepad with him and writes his cell number on it. Business cards are more professional and it would make Bucky’s life easier.

Steve’s spent the last few lunch breaks during work sketching some options. He’s working on the bubble lettering of Bucky’s name on one of the designs when Yoo-Ra arrives with their lunch.

She swings herself into the passenger seat and holds up the two cartons of food.

“Are you drawing or eating?” she asks.

“I just wanna finish this lettering.”

She shoves his carton onto the dashboard, opens her own and starts eating. She leans over and squints at the lettering.

“That looks good. What about the animals?”

“Hmm? I drew a dog. See?”

“Yeah, but James does more than look after dogs, doesn’t he? I think you should include different animals,” she mumbles through a mouthful.

“Like a cat?”

“And maybe a bird.”

“It’ll be too cluttered.”

“Then don’t do details on them. Just do the outlines or something.”

Steve grabs his eraser and removes the dog outline that he’s done and draws a smaller one. Then he does a rough outline of a cat and a small bird. “How’s that?”

“Good. You gonna do it in color?”

“Yup. After I eat.” Unless they get a call, Steve thinks. He’s learned quickly that on some days he barely has time to eat two mouthfuls of food without being interrupted by the radio, but today doesn’t seem to be one of those days. Steve shoves the sketchpad onto the dashboard, opens his carton and starts eating. “Did Richard sell that house yet? The one on Glendale?”

Yoo-Ra rolls her eyes. “Nope. That couple looked at it for the fifth time yesterday, but no offers.”

Steve chuckles. “He’s having a slow week too, huh?”

“No kid—”

They trail off as the radio crackles to life. It’s a nearby team requesting a confirmation of an address from the dispatchers. Nothing that concerns them. They go back to eating.

“What are you doing when our day of non-stop activity comes to an end?” Yoo-Ra asks.

Steve laughs. “Oh, I’ll probably go home and collapse from exhaustion. This much go-go-go is too rough for me, you know?”

“Careful, Rogers. You’ve only been on the job for a few months and you’re already sounding jaded.”

“I wonder who I get that from.”

“Hilarious. So? Plans?”

“I was actually thinking of buying Buck a new phone. It’s a pain that he can’t check his business email when he’s out with the dogs or at somebody’s house.”

Yoo-Ra grabs her water bottle from the drink holder and takes a sip. “That’s a good idea. He’ll love that. Hey, let me know which card design he ends up picking.”

“Yup.”

The radio crackles to life again, and this time it’s an actual call. A man is having chest pains at work. Steve glances at Yoo-Ra, who nods. Steve clicks on the radio and informs dispatch that they’re taking the call.

Their lunch and the sketchpad are tucked away, seatbelts are tightened, sirens are flipped on and they’re off.

*             *             *

Bucky’s having an excellent day.

That morning he shows up at the shelter for his shift and discovers that somebody has finally adopted Diesel. The poor boy’s wounds had healed well, but he’d still been having difficulty walking for long periods of time without assistance. Bucky had put up flyers and told all his clients about Diesel, but for months Diesel hadn’t found his forever home.

That morning Bucky shows up and Dana, the center’s adoption coordinator, informs him that a lovely couple has adopted Diesel.

His day gets better when he gets calls from two new clients while he’s out walking shelter dogs—and thanks to his wonderful new phone—he can take down all their details and schedule their appointments right on his phone instead of scribbling information on a piece of paper.

Then he goes to do a petsitting shift, and 3 months old Kuma, who he’d been training to use pee pads has actually used the pads instead of peeing all over the carpet in the front hall. There are lots of treats, kisses and cuddles for Kuma, then Bucky takes a picture of a proud Kuma sitting beside the pads and sends a text about Kuma’s accomplishment to his owner. His owner replies right away with about fifty smiley faces.

Then Bucky arrives home, checks the mail and finds a box waiting for him, which contain his beautiful new business cards. He pries open the box and takes out a handful.

They’re shiny and colorful and just beautiful.

“You did good, Rogers. You did good,” he mumbles, smiling as he spreads the cards all over the kitchen table.

He leaves the cards on the table and throws a pizza into the oven. While that’s baking, he starts the vacuum.

Steve arrives home when the pizza’s almost done, and Bucky can’t hide the huge grin on his face.

“Hey, Rogers! How was your day? Cause I have to tell you, mine was great!”

Steve drops his backpack to the floor and toes off his shoes. He grins. “Yeah? What happened?”

“Look what arrived in the mail!” Bucky sing-songs, gesturing grandly at the table.

Steve steps closer and his eyes light up when he sees the cards. “Oh, my God, they came! I didn’t know they’d be done so soon!” He picks one of them up and holds it up to the light, letting the light bounce off the shiny colors.

Bucky steps up behind Steve and wraps his arms around him. “They’re beautiful. Thank you,” he mumbles into Steve’s neck, kissing his neck and shoulder.

Steve turns in his arms and lifts Bucky’s chin to kiss him. “You’re welcome.”

There’s more kissing, then the oven timer beeps. Bucky reluctantly pulls back from the kissing. “Pizza’s done.”

“I’d say forget the pizza and let’s keep this moving along, but I’m actually starving and the pizza smells really good.”

Bucky snorts. “We’re an old married couple, Rogers. That’s the problem.”

Steve releases Bucky and smacks him on the ass as he heads towards the oven. “If you think I’m keeping my hands off you as soon as I’m done putting my hands on the pizza, you’re really wrong.”

Bucky laughs and pulls the pizza out of the oven.

“So what else happened today?”

“Oh, Diesel got adopted!”

A smile lights up Steve’s face. “Really? That’s great!” He pulls plates out of the cupboard and carefully gathers up the business cards from the table. Plates and napkins are put down and the cards are put back into their box.

“The poor guy’s been so sad in the shelter. I’m so glad he’s got his forever home finally. Oh, and Kuma used the pads.”

Steve laughs. “That’s great! You’ve had a million dollar day, huh?”

“Oh, yeah.” Bucky puts the pizza on the table and drops a slice onto each of their plates. “So, how was your shift?”

Steve takes a bite and shrugs. “Pretty average. Eight calls. Nothing major. Biggest thing was a car accident. Fire had to cut them out and one of them had a head wound and a broken leg, but everybody was in surprisingly good shape. Their cars are completely done. Oh, and we got Mrs. Swenson again.”

Bucky smiles. “Well, it’s been three days since her last call. It’s not possible for her to go more than three days without calling you guys. What was it this time? Her heart? Her foot?”

Steve takes another bite. “Nope. Her arm.”

“Ah.”

“It was tingling.”

“A big cause for concern.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Did she get her free ride to her favourite place with her favourite people?”

“Oh, she sure did. And she got to see her favourite nurse and her favourite doctor.”

“So it seems that all of us had a pretty stellar day. You, me, Diesel, Kuma, Mrs. Swenson.”

“You gonna wanna continue our stellar day in bed?”

Bucky tears off a piece of his crust and chews it, grinning. “Oh, I sure do.”

*             *             *

Steve is pleasantly surprised when he wakes up about half an hour before his alarm would be going off. He blinks up at the ceiling, trying to decide if he should keep sleeping or if he’s ready for the day.

Surprisingly, he isn’t tired.

Seems like he’s getting a hang of this working-nights-sleeping-days-thing.

He throws the covers off and gets ready. He wanders into the kitchen and sees Bucky sitting at the table, the laptop open in front of him and papers spread everywhere. He’s got his smartphone lying on the table and he’s wearing the fancy ear piece Steve bought him a few days ago.

He’d nearly destroyed his fancy new phone when he tried answering it while holding the leashes of four excited dogs. Two of the dogs had pulled one way, the other two went another way, and the phone tried going a third way, and there was a near disaster. Plus, Bucky had accidentally hung up on the client he’d been speaking to. So Steve had bought him a nice ear piece that has become a near permanent fixture on his ear.

Bucky shots him a grin when he sees him. “Hey! Look who’s up early!”

Steve saunters over and leans down for a kiss. “Hi.”

“You’re not tired?”

“Nope. Seems like I’m getting a hang of this night shift thing.”

Bucky smiles and gives him another kiss. “I hate to be a downer, but I was actually counting on you sleeping for another 30. I’ve got some stuff I haven’t finished yet.”

Steve stretches and collapses in the chair next to him. “Don’t let me interrupt. You do what you gotta do.”

“You got anything planned for today?”

Steve grins. “I was thinking of taking you out for dinner.”

“The new Indian place?”

“Sure.”

Bucky rubs his hands together, looking pleased. “Excellent! Alright, let me hurry through this stuff and then we can go.”

Steve gets up and makes himself a bowl of cereal. He’s half way in the fridge when there’s a quiet knock on the door and Alina comes in.

“Hello, James!” she whispers. Suzy comes slinking in after her and immediately pads up to Bucky.

“Hello, you two!” Bucky says, pushing back from the table so he can properly greet Suzy, whose tail is wagging happily.

Alina frowns at Bucky’s loud voice. “James! Too loud! Husband is sleeping!”

Steve pulls himself out of the fridge. “Husband _was_ sleeping, but husband actually woke up early,” he says.

Alina startles when she sees him. “Steve! Not see you! Tricky, tricky boy!” She comes over to him and leans up to kiss him on the cheek. He puts the milk on the counter and gently hugs her.

“When did you wake up?”

“About five minutes ago.”

She pulls back and frowns at him. “Not tired?”

“Nope. I feel good.”

She pinches his cheek and then goes back to the table to hug Bucky. Steve finishes putting together his bowl of cereal. He was going to eat at the table, but the table’s covered in Bucky’s papers so he hops up on the counter and eats there.

Alina is pulling out her wallet. “James, here is twenty-five dollars I owe.”

Bucky doesn’t look up from his papers. “You don’t owe me anything.”

She frowns. “Yes—I owe twenty-five dollars.”

Bucky frowns and looks at her. “You sure?”

She raises her eyebrows at him. “Yes, I’m sure. Why you not sure? Need to be more organized, James!” She tuts at him and gestures at his piles of papers. “This is not the way to run company.” She picks up a bundle of papers. “This is messy. You should be using computer to keep things organized, then you know I owe twenty-five dollars.”

Bucky makes a face. “I don’t know how to use the computer for something like that.”

“Then I show you. I do books for many years for my husband.” She gestures for him to budge over and she drags a chair over to sit next to him. “Okay, I show you how to use free program on your computer. Later, you get more complicated program that costs money, but right now, you use free program.”

Bucky’s frowning at the computer. “What program?”

She points. “That button. Big E. Click.”

When Steve finishes his breakfast, he grabs his sketchpad and sits on the couch. He flips open the pad and continues working on a sketch. He starts the latest baseball game on the television and turns the volume down so he doesn’t disturb Bucky or Alina. Suzy comes wandering over and hops up on the couch next to him and curls up beside him.

Bucky’s frowning at his computer screen. “So I gotta put what everybody owes?”

“Also what everybody pay in past. Need to have full history documented. Very important.”

“You know, I never agreed to doing this much work, you know.”

“You are business owner. Business owner is always busy. This is your problem, not mine.”

“Not to change the subject, but once we’re done here, do you wanna come for dinner with us?”

“Of course. Steve, you have night shift tonight?”

He nods. “Yup.”

“Okay, we do a little more work here, then we go for dinner. James, where are papers with my payments? I show you how to put into program.”

*             *             *

“So what are your thoughts about me getting a car?” Bucky asks one evening while they’re strolling down the street after a baseball game. They’re stopping by one of Bucky’s petsitting clients’ homes on their way home.

Bucky had talked to Darcy about how _Bucky’s Buddies_ is doing during a break between innings. Darcy had been surprised to hear that Bucky picks up all the animals and drops them off on foot. He’d asked him why he didn’t have a vehicle so he could get things done faster and also expand his customer base.

Bucky had thought about maybe getting a car so Steve and him could shop more easily, but he’d never considered getting a vehicle to help with the animals.

He unlocks the client’s front door and heads inside. Steve follows him in and locks the door behind them. They take off their shoes and head towards the living room where the bird cage is.

“I think it’s a great idea, Buck.”

Bucky greets the two tiny green and blue budgies in the cage by the television. He unhooks the food dispenser and fills it up with the seed mix in the bag below the cage. He pulls out the dirty newspaper from the bottom of the cage and crumples it up. “Can you toss this in the garbage, please? Kitchen’s through that door,” he says, gesturing down the hallway.

Steve goes to throw out the newspaper while Bucky puts fresh sheets down. He checks their water and then holds up his fingers to both of the birds, chirping in encouragement. “Come on, fellas. Come on out for some play time. Then it’ll be bed time.”

Both birds climb onto his fingers and he pulls them out of the cage. He gently pets their bellies and scratches their heads until Steve comes back.

“Can you grab that plastic ladder thing next to the feed bag?”

Steve picks it up.

“Okay, now hold one end of it.” He grabs the other end and puts both birds on his end of the ladder. “Okay, now lift your end. Not too much.”

As soon as the ladder’s inclined, both budgies started scampering up the rungs. Steve laughs in delight. “They’re smart boys, huh?”

“Oh, yes they are.” Once the birds reach Steve’s end, he looks at a bit of a loss. “You can pet them, Stevie. Use the back of your finger and gently stroke their bellies. They might nibble on your finger but it won’t hurt.”

Steve is a bit hesitant but he rubs their bellies a bit before Bucky raises his end of the ladder and coaxes both birds to climb back to him.

They play with them a while longer, feed them some treats, then both of them are put back into the cage. Bucky locks the door and tosses a blanket over the cage.

“Alright, they’re done for the night. Good night, boys. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

They head back out, locking the door behind them.

They’re wandering back to Steve’s bike when Bucky remembers their earlier conversation. “So I was actually thinking of getting a larger car. Like a van or something. Something I can bring multiple dogs in.”

Steve pulls on his motorcycle helmet. “I think it’s a great idea, Buck. You’ll be able to get to places a lot quicker and do your rounds faster. You wanna go car shopping tomorrow?”

“You sure? You wanted to have a lazy day in bed.”

“We can have a lazy day after we buy a new van.”

Bucky grins and pulls his helmet on. “Okay.”

*             *             *

A week after they buy a van, Bucky’s doing his rounds at the shelter, greeting familiar faces and getting introduced to new faces. He’s almost done taking everybody out for a pee when he gets to the last kennel.

“Alright, who do we have—” His voice trails off the second he sees the enormous brown dog in the kennel. He recognizes him instantly.

“Oh, Diesel. Buddy. What happened?”

He unlocks the kennel and kneels down next to Diesel. The large dog doesn’t even raise his eyes to acknowledge Bucky’s presence. He’s just lying there, staring at nothing.

“Oh, my darling boy, what happened, huh? I know you didn’t bite anybody and I don’t think you know how to be a rude dog even if you want to be.” Bucky gently strokes Diesel’s front paws.

His heart is breaking for Diesel.

He finds Tammy in one of the communal cat rooms and asks her what happened. She looks crushed too. “They just couldn’t handle him. They didn’t realize how much they’d have to carry him around, and even though we told them how much his food costs, they thought they’d be able to find a cheaper version. They just—they didn’t realize how much they were taking on. It happens from time to time.”

Bucky wants to cry.

He goes back to Diesel and gently coaxes him up and they slowly make their way down the hallway to the door. Bucky picks up him and carefully shifts the dog’s weight in his arms. Diesel trembles in his arms, fearful of the contact.

“I’m sorry, Deeze, but it’s easier on your legs if I carry you down the stairs. I know you don’t like it.”

Bucky carries him down the short flight of stairs and waits for him to do his business on the grass.

They head back in and Diesel immediately lies back down and stares into space. His eyes are sad and it’s clear he thinks his situation is hopeless.

Bucky has a tough time swallowing the lump in his throat and feels tears welling up in his eyes. He rubs Diesel’s paws, mindful of him not liking his head being touched.

“Oh, Deeze. I’m so sorry, buddy. I’m so sorry it didn’t work out. You’ll find your perfect family, I promise. You’ll find your forever home.”

He barely manages to get through the rest of his shift, but the dogs need to be fed, kennels need to be cleaned and dogs need to be walked.

He’s still upset when he gets home. Steve is still sleeping and Bucky momentarily debates whether to leave him alone or not, but he looks at the time and figures that Steve will agree that Bucky’s need for Steve cuddles at the moment is more important that Steve’s last two hours of sleep.

He changes into comfortable clothes and pads into Steve’s room and climbs into bed beside him.

Steve rolls over and sleepily opens his eyes. “Hey, Buck—” he mumbles.

Bucky buries his face into Steve’s chest and wraps his arms around him.

“Buck? You okay? What happened?” Steve sounds much more awake.

“Diesel’s back at the shelter,” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s shirt, swallowing hard to keep his tears at bay. “He—he was too much for them to handle. They brought him back,”

“Oh, Buck, I’m so sorry. Jesus—that’s terrible.” Steve pulls the blankets over them and wraps his arms tightly around him. Steve rubs his back, trying to calm him.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, I just—”

“Hush. Don’t even think about that. It’s fine. I’m so sorry, Buck. I’m sorry for Diesel too. The poor guy.”

Bucky sniffles a bit and wipes away a few stray tears that have trickled down his face. Steve shifts over and grabs some tissues and wipes Bucky’s face.

“You should have seen his eyes, Stevie. He’s so sad. He must have been so happy to have a family that wanted him and then they bring him back. He probably thinks he did something bad. He’s been through so much and he deserves to have a nice home where he can be happy and safe. Tammy and the others do the best they can, but he deserves more than that. They got him out of that horrible abusive house but he deserves more than the shelter.”

The parallels between Bucky’s situation and Diesel’s situation isn’t lost on either of them.

“I know— _I know_ the terrible things he lived through, and he survived and he deserves to have a loving home. I got my forever home. It ain’t fair that he doesn’t get one too.”

Steve rubs Bucky’s back. “Hey, Buck?”

Bucky sniffles and blows his nose into the tissues. He hands them to Steve who tosses them on the night stand. “Yeah?”

“Do you think we could handle Diesel?”

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah. I think that’s the problem with the couple who took him. They both aren’t very strong and couldn’t safely carry him. I’m not saying he needs a family where everybody’s a body builder, but a situation like ours where there are multiple people in the family who are fit enough to help carry him around would be the best. But those kinds of families often have little children and Diesel’s an angel, but he’s so big that if he knocks into a kid, they’re gonna go flying.”

Steve smiles and brushes a strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear. “That’s not what I meant. Do you think we—as in _you and me_ —could handle Diesel?”

Bucky freezes. “What do you mean could we handle Diesel? I can lift him just fine so I assume you could too. Why?”

“We’re on the second floor and our apartment isn’t really big. Would that be okay for him?”

Bucky frowns and slowly sits up, staring down at Steve. “What are you saying, Rogers? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Steve smiles. “You bet.”

“You—you wanna bring Diesel home? Here? To live with us?”

Steve shrugs. “Why not? The two of us can physically handle him. I mean, the stairs will be tough, but we can do it. His food being expensive is also okay. And most of all, the big guy needs love, lots of it, and we’ve got tons of that.”

Bucky’s staring at him, his eyes huge. “You wanna be Diesel’s forever home?”

“Only if you think it’s a good idea.”

“Good idea? Steven Grant Rogers, I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do right at this moment.”

Bucky reaches down and hauls Steve up so he can wrap his arms around him. “You’re serious, right? You have to be serious. Please, please, please, be serious.”

Steve laughs and holds Bucky tight. “Of course I’m serious, Buck. A hundred percent.”

Bucky pulls back and searches Steve’s face with frantic eyes. “You mean it? Really? A hundred percent? We can bring Diesel here and he’ll never have to back to the shelter?”

“Never. We’ll make it work, Buck. I promise.”

“You—you always say I can’t bring them home.”

“Diesel’s a special case, Buck. You know that. He’s got special needs that a family like you and me can deal with but not a lot of other families. We’ve given it a lot of time and nobody’s come forward. I think we’re pretty much Diesel’s last hope if we don’t want him to stay in the shelter system for months or years to come.”

Bucky feels tears creeping up again. “We’re gonna bring Diesel home.”

Steve smiles. He reaches up and brushes Bucky’s tears off his cheeks. “Yes, we are. Well, if Dana accepts our adoption application.”

Bucky laughs. “Seriously? You think Dana would reject us? We’ll be stellar parents and she knows it.”

“Plus, we’ve got some inside connections. We can always use those.”

Bucky laughs harder. “Come on. We have shopping to do and I have to call the shelter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter (and the business cards)! Next up: Diesel joins our little family. We're nearing the end - two chapters left until our journey comes to an end!


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Kawherp for suggesting the joint-health supplement for Diesel that will help with his mobility issues!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains the off-screen suicide of a stranger. The situation is not described in graphic detail. If you'd like to skip that entire section, read to the end of the 'exposure therapy discussion' scene and then skip the rest of the chapter. Please refer to the note at the end of the chapter if you require more details.

Steve pulls the van into a parking spot next to the shelter. He hasn’t even pulled the keys out of the ignition before Bucky’s out the door and up the steps of the shelter. Steve quickly pulls the keys out and hurries after him.

He catches up to him at the front desk, where a smiling woman is handing Bucky a bundle of paperwork.

“You must be James’ Steve! I’m Jenn.” She says, sticking her hand out.

Steve grins and shakes her head. “That’s me. James’ Steve. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot of wonderful things about you guys.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, and I’m so excited you’re taking Diesel home!”

Two other women appear from the back and look very excited to see them. “James! I didn’t know you guys were coming so early.”

Bucky smiles as he sorts through the papers, signing his name on various pages. “Diesel’s spent more than enough time in your wonderful company. I wanna steal him away as soon as possible. Tammy, this is—”

“James’ Steve, yeah! I’m Tammy, this is Dana. It’s so great to meet you.”

Steve shakes hands with both women and then excuses himself to grab the pen Bucky’s waving in his face. He signs where Bucky’s pointing.

Jenn hands the papers to Dana, who checks them over. “Okay, that all looks good. Now, I know James knows about Diesel’s special care requirements, but we need to go over it together. Come into my office, please.”

They head into Dana’s office and go over everything that they’ll need to do to take care of Diesel properly. Steve already knows all of it from the months of listening to Bucky so he finds himself paying more attention to Bucky, who’s practically vibrating in his chair. Steve discreetly moves his hand to Bucky’s thigh under the table and catches one of his hands. Bucky clutches at his hand, squeezing it anxiously.

When Dana’s given them a bunch of paperwork and she’s satisfied that they know what they’re getting into, she gives them a smile. “Alright, that settles all the paperwork.”

Steve frowns. “What about the fee? Can we do that right now?”

Dana smiles. “Don’t worry about that. Animals who had an unusually long wait for adoption are free of charge.”

“It’s fine, Dana. I insist. You guys can use the money and I don’t mind paying the fee. Please.”

She relents and puts Steve’s card through. Bucky lifts their clasped hands to his lips and gives Steve’s hand a kiss while she’s not looking.

Then it’s time to introduce Steve to Diesel.

Bucky leads the way out of the office and through the kitchen. Steve can hear the barking even through the closed door that’s between them and the dog kennels. Bucky takes two headphones off the hooks by the door and hands one to Steve.

They get ready and Bucky pulls open the door. The sound of the barking is muffled but he can definitely hear the dogs, even with the headphones on. He’s really enjoying getting to see the ins-and-outs of the shelter—getting to see all of these things that Bucky’s told him about for months.

Bucky walks down the hallway, heading straight towards the last kennel.

Steve and Dana hurry after him. Peering through the chainlink door, Steve gets his first look at his new family member. He’s seen pictures of Diesel on the shelter adoption page, but they’d taken those pictures when Diesel was feeling a lot happier than he is now.

Steve thought the first thing he’d notice about Diesel would be his size, but as Bucky unlocks the door and swings it open, the first thing Steve actually notices is the sadness in his eyes.

He knows how such sadness feels. He knows how deep it goes and how it can darken the entire world.

And how hopeless it can make everything seem.

Steve crouches down while Bucky sits beside Diesel in the kennel. Bucky gently strokes Diesel’s front paws. “Deeze? Hey, buddy. This is Steve. We’re gonna be your new family, Diesel. We’re gonna take you home.”

Steve reaches out a hand for Diesel to smell, but he doesn’t seem interested. Diesel doesn’t seem to care about any of the people around him.

Dana sighs softly. “Alright, honestly, I’m supposed to spend more time observing you three together, but James, I know you’re good with him and Diesel’s not gonna give us much to work with. The sooner he’s home with you two, the better. You can get him up and outside.”

Bucky gets to his feet and slowly gets Diesel to his feet, half lifting and half coaxing him. Steve steps back from the kennel door. Diesel gets to his feet and slowly takes a few steps towards the door. It’s clear he’s not excited about the situation.

They make their way down the hallway and Bucky hands Dana his headphones. “Steve, meet us at the van. I’m gonna take him out for a pee and then come around.”

Dana steps into the kennel and takes out one of the towels that had been on Diesel’s doggy bed. “You guys can take this with you. It’ll be nice for him to have something with a familiar smell.”

Steve thanks her and drapes the towel over his shoulder. Bucky had warned him that Bullmastiff’s are extreme droolers so they’ve already put down lots of towels in the van, but the familiarity of the towel will be nice for him.

He checks to make sure he’s got all the papers, then he follows Dana back through to the kitchen. He hangs up everybody’s headphones and she digs through the cupboard and hands him a half-full bag of Diesel’s special gluten free kibble.

“Oh, thanks, Dana. We already have a few bags of the stuff at home.”

“Don’t worry about it, please take it. Nobody else here needs it.”

So Steve struggles out the door and deposits all the stuff into the van. He opens the sliding door and spreads Diesel’s shelter towel over the other towels. By the time he’s done, he hears Bucky approaching behind him.

Bucky’s carrying Diesel, quietly murmuring to him. Steve steps back and lets Bucky put him on the seat. Diesel is trembling slightly but otherwise isn’t reacting. Bucky sits beside Diesel, quietly talking to him.

Steve does the driving while Bucky comforts Diesel. “We’re going home, buddy. Your new home. And you’re not coming back to the shelter, I promise.”

When they get home, Steve carries the stuff from the shelter and Bucky carries Diesel.

They had set up everything for Diesel’s arrival before they leaving, and Bucky brings Diesel right to his new doggy bed. They’d put it on the other side of the rocking chair, away from foot traffic but close to the couch. Steve puts the shelter towel over the other blankets they had piled on the large doggy bed and Bucky carefully lowers Diesel down.

“There you go, Deeze. Welcome to your new bed. It’s bigger than the shelter bed so your paws won’t hang off this one. That’s nice, huh?”

Steve fills up the brand new water and food bowls and puts them close to Diesel.

Bucky’s digging through his box of dog toys that he brings on walks. “Let’s see if there’s something that you like, Deeze.” He pulls out a stuffed monkey that’s big enough for Diesel and places it near him. “That’s yours, buddy. All yours.”

Diesel doesn’t look at it. His eyes are staring straight ahead, empty and sad.

Steve glances at the rocking chair on the other side of the television and remembers somebody else who had come into this apartment, frightened, alone and without a place to call home. As Bucky crouches next to Diesel, talking to him quietly, Steve can’t get over the parallels.

He comes up behind Bucky and kneels behind him, wrapping his arms around him. “He’s okay now, Buck. He’s home and he’s safe.”

“He still looks sad.”

“It’ll take time, Buck. You remember what it was like when you first came home?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Not really. I wasn’t in a good head space in those days. I don’t remember much.”

“It took you a couple of days until you started coming out of your shell. Then it took a couple a weeks until you were comfortable in the apartment. We gotta give him space. He’ll feel more comfortable if we’re just doing our routine and he can observe us. He can get used to us without pressure.” Steve kisses Bucky’s neck and stands up, pulling Bucky with him.

He leads him to the couch and makes him sit. “Come on, let’s watch some house flippers create magic.”

Steve turns on the television and lets the episode start playing. Bucky keeps sneaking glances at Diesel, who’s lying motionless on his doggy bed.

Steve puts an arm around Bucky and pulls him close. “He’s gonna be okay, Buck, I promise,” he whispers into his hair, kissing his temple.

As they sit there, the hours slowly go by and neither of them really pay attention to what’s on the television. It reminds Steve of those first few days when Bucky had stayed hidden behind the rocking chair while Steve had watched television, always keeping more of an eye on Bucky than the television.

Steve hopes Diesel will have as much success recovering as Bucky had.

Steve will certainly do his part to make it happen.

*             *             *

Bucky wants to spend the night sleeping on the couch, but Steve pulls him into his bedroom. “You gotta give him space, Buck. Let him get used to our routine.”

Steve has two more days off before he has to go to work and they spend those days at home with Diesel.

Diesel doesn’t touch the food in his bowl at first, so Bucky puts some on the floor and patiently encourages him to eat each little piece of kibble before giving him more. It’s slow, but at least he eats a little.

They spend a lot of time sitting on the couch or on the ground near Diesel, talking to him quietly and stroking his paws. Bucky takes him out to use the bathroom, but mainly they let him lie on his bed.

The night before Steve’s next shift, Bucky’s feeding Diesel on the floor. While Diesel’s chewing, Bucky discreetly slides the bowl filled with a little kibble under his nose. Diesel sniffs it and licks up the pieces from the bowl.

“Good job, Deeze! Yay! That’s such a good boy!” Bucky pours more kibble into it and praises Diesel as he continues eating. Having decided that the bowl isn’t so bad after all, Diesel has no further issues eating from the bowl.

They spend as much time at home with Diesel as possible, sitting with him and talking to him while they’re doing other things.

Several times a day, they sit on the floor, making the stuffed monkey dance for Diesel and praising Diesel when he follows the motions of the stuffed monkey with his eyes. The monkey always goes back to Diesel when play time is done.

Generally, Diesel doesn’t mind being touched, and one day he even moves his paws closer to Bucky when Bucky sits next to him, clearly wanting his paws to be stroked.

But there are other days when he trembles and curls up as soon as he sees them coming towards him. There’s no petting on those days and they give him more space than normal, letting him watch them going about their normal routines.

But Diesel absolutely doesn’t like the top of his head being touched. They don’t know if Diesel doesn’t like their hovering hands, or if his former abusive owners had done something specific to hurt his head, but while he doesn’t mind getting chin scratches, he whines and shakes with fear as soon as he sees hands hovering over his head.

On the fourth day, Steve has brought Diesel up from a short walk and Bucky stares at them thoughtfully. “Hey, Rogers?”

“Yeah?”

“I think we should get some kind of cart that we can pull Diesel around in. I think he’d like being outside more, but carrying him is exhausting. If he’s in a cart, he can come with me when I walk the other dogs.”

So Steve does some research.

He’s gotten much better at using a search engine, but it still takes him a while until he comes across sites selling bike trailers. “Hey, Buck? Come take a look at these. We can pull Diesel in it when we’re walking and it attaches to our bikes too. It’s got a cover too so he can be comfortable when it’s raining.”

Bucky looks skeptical. “Do they make ones bit enough for Diesel?”

That’s a good point.

It turns out most of the trailers aren’t sturdy enough to handle a dog of Diesel’s size and weight, but Steve does manage to find one.

He orders it and they anxiously wait for it to arrive.

Once they get it, they bring it inside the apartment and put it near Diesel and put a soft blanket into it. He’s wary about it, but they let it sit there for a few days to let him get accustomed to its presence. Multiple times a day, the monkey toy is put into the trailer and dances around inside, showing Diesel how much fun it is.

Eventually, they put Diesel in the trailer.

He’s not too happy to be in the trailer, trembling and whining softly as soon as they release him. Bucky crouches down beside him and wiggles the stuffed monkey. “It’s okay, Deeze. You’re okay.” Stuffed monkey gets put into the cart beside Diesel, and Steve sits down next to him and feeds him some kibble. After a few minutes, they take him back out with lots of praising.

After a few days of practicing, they bring the trailer and Diesel downstairs. Diesel and the monkey are put into the cart and Diesel seems more relaxed as he lies there.

Steve and Bucky crouch in front of the trailer, smiling at Diesel. “Hey, buddy, look at you! You’re doing so well.”

When Bucky gently pulls the trailer forward, Diesel seems a bit unsure of the whole thing, but calms when he realizes he’s okay. Bucky walks backwards, pulling the trailer slowly and they keep talking to him, praising him. They walk a few blocks, then let Diesel out and encourage him to walk a block on his own. When Diesel starts slowing down and limping, they put him back into the trailer.

For the first few weeks, Bucky keeps Diesel separate from the other dogs he walks and they leave him at home while they’re working.

After about a month, Steve is completely taken aback when he comes in the door after his shift and sees Diesel waddling towards him, his tail slowly wagging. Steve crouches down and stretches out his arms. “Hi, Deeze! Look at you! You’re doing so well, buddy!”

Diesel reaches him and stands there, tail wagging and drooling. Steve gently pets his side, praising him.

Bucky comes out of the bathroom and does a double take when he sees Diesel. “Wow, look at you two!”

He kisses Steve and then crouches down next to Diesel. “You’re amazing Deeze, aren’t you? What a good boy.”

As Diesel settles into his new life and starts trusting his new family, he starts becoming more interactive and interested in the things around him. To their surprise, as Diesel improves mentally, he starts improving physically as well. Although his arthritis and other assorted leg and hip problems are permanent, he can stand more easily and walks confidently for longer stretches of time before needing to be put into the trailer.

*             *             *

“One more set of stairs, Deeze. Hang on,” Steve says, carefully walking up the stairs. Having reached their floor, he gently puts Diesel down. He drapes the leash across Diesel’s back and they slowly make their way to the door. Steve’s impressed when Diesel stops by the correct door all by himself.

“Hey, good job, buddy. Yay!” Steve gently rubs his sides and scratches him under the chin. Diesel looks quite pleased with himself, stuffed monkey hanging from his mouth. A long strand of drool clings to Steve’s fingers when he pulls his hand back, but he wipes it on his pants without a thought. He’s getting used to it.

He unlocks the apartment door and lets Diesel wander in. “Buck, I’m gonna put the trailer away,” he calls through the open door before shutting it behind Diesel. He heads back down and puts the trailer into the bike storage, then jogs back up the stairs.

He lets himself into the apartment and toes off his shoes. Diesel has lumbered over to where Bucky’s sitting at the table, doing paperwork. Diesel’s harness, leash and stuffed monkey are on the floor and Bucky’s talking to him.

“You took good care of Stevie, didn’t you? Yeah, you did.” Bucky pets his back and Diesel happily snuffles into his side.

Steve smiles. “He was a very good boy. We met another dog when we were out and Diesel said hi to her.”

“He did? That’s such a good boy!” Bucky murmurs, scratching under Diesel’s chin. Diesel pants into Bucky’s face, drooling and looking very pleased with himself.

Eventually Diesel has had enough, picks up stuffed monkey and wanders over to his doggy bed. He slowly lowers himself down and makes himself comfortable, propping his chin on his stuffed monkey. He blinks around the room, alternating his gaze between Bucky and Steve.

Steve heads into the kitchen and pulls out the new bag of joint health support supplement treats they’ve started giving Diesel a few days ago. It’s too early to tell if the supplements are working, but the online reviews have been pretty positive and Diesel loves the taste of them.

He goes to Diesel doggy bed and sits on the floor next to him, feeding him the treats one by one. “That’s a good boy, Deeze. You like the new treats, huh? They’re gonna help you walk better. Hopefully.”

Bucky’s scrolling through his contact list on his phone and selecting one of the names.

“Hi Doreen, it’s James. You left me a message this morning? Uh huh….okay. No problem.” He’s busy typing away. “Just the 4th and 5th? Okay, that’s fine. What’s that? Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. She’ll be happy to see you. I’m sure she’ll be glad to have you help out for a few days. Uh huh. Don’t you worry about the ladies, I’ll take good care of them. Does Petunia still need her medication in the mornings? Uh huh. Okay, no problem. Is the usual rate okay? Perfect. Alright, have a safe trip to your sister’s and I’ll be seeing the ladies on the 4th. Yup. You too, Doreen. Bye-bye.”

Bucky hangs up the phone and finishes making some notes. “So, I know Diesel was a good boy today, but was Steve Rogers a good boy too?”

Steve laughs, gets off the floor and comes up behind Bucky. He tilts his head back so he can kiss him. “Yes, he was. Diesel kept him in line.”

Bucky grins. “That’s a tough job. I know, I’ve been doing it for ninety years. Can I have more kisses?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Well, I guess so. The things I do for you, Jesus.” He bends down and there’s more kissing. Then Steve pulls back. “Anything I can do to help?”

Bucky nods. “Can you grab the other computer and go through the emails? I have to call Ajay Sharma back—the man’s called me three times today.”

Steve goes to get the other computer and turns it on. “Which one’s he?”

“He’s got the bossy Pomeranian, Molly.”

“Right. I remember him. He called three times in one day?”

“He left me messages each time but all he said was that he’s fighting with Molly and losing. I don’t understand how somebody can lose against a tiny Pomeranian, but hey, I guess anything’s possible.”

Steve logs into the _Bucky’s Buddies_ email and starts going through the inbox. There’s an email asking about rates which Steve can easily answer.

“Hello Ajay? It’s James from Bucky’s Buddies. I'm sorry I missed your calls today. What can I help you with? Uh huh. I see. It’s a battle wills, huh? You can’t give in, Ajay. She needs to lose at least 5 pounds. Uh huh. I understand. I know it’s hard when she’s whining and begging, but I promise you, she ain’t starving. She doesn’t need those treats, she’s just being whiny and she knows you’ll give in.”

There’s another email asking for advice on how to deal with a cat’s recent refusal to use the litter box. That’s a Bucky question so Steve moves on. A client had responded to Bucky’s invoice email with a reply that he’ll leave the cheque on the kitchen counter. That’s an easy one. Steve replies, thanking the man and signs off as ‘James Barnes’ and sends the email.

“I know she’s being difficult, but you have to be firm. She can’t monitor her own weight or her own health, sir, you have to do it for her. And that means being a bit mean, yes.”

Steve tugs the other computer closer, where Bucky’s got his calendar and other programs open. He finds the next appointment for the man with the cheque and puts in a reminder for Bucky to pick up the cheque while he’s there. It’ll show up on his phone when he’s there.

He can’t believe doing all of these tech things feels like second nature to him now. He’s so glad Bucky pushed him to learn how to use all these 21st century gadgets.

“No, Ajay, she won’t hate you forever for not giving her treats. Trust me, she’ll forget about the whole thing in ten minutes. She’s just being stubborn. Listen, try it for a few more days and if things don’t improve, I’ll come over and help out again.”

Bucky hangs up. “Oh, my God—that pair is really something.”

 Steve smiles. “Molly’s winning the battle of the wills?”

Bucky makes a face. “Yeah, and she’s eating her way to an early grave. Stubborn little brat.”

Steve clicks on the next email. It’s a woman raving about how much she loves Bucky walking her two dogs. Says he’s the friendliest, most professional dog walker she’s ever met. He grins. “Hey Buck? Come read this one.”

Bucky swings around the table and reads it over. He smiles, looking pleased. “That’s nice of her. Melissa's always kind of cold when I talk to her so I’ve been worried she isn’t happy about something.”

Steve wraps an arm around him and pulls him into his lap. He props his chin on Bucky’s chin. He winds his arms under Bucky’s arms and types out a reply. He thanks Melisssa for her feedback and asks her if he can use her feedback on his website. He adds Bucky’s signature and sends it off.

“I like this. You doing my work while I sit on your lap.”

Steve smirks into his neck. “You know, there are other things we can do with you sitting on my lap. And they’re more fun than answering emails.”

Bucky turns his head to the side and nudges his nose against Steve’s temple. “Are you propositioning me, Rogers?”

“Maybe.”

Bucky laughs and pushes off Steve. “Come on, I hear my bed calling our name.”

*             *             *

Two months after Diesel comes home, Bucky says he wants to start working on getting Diesel comfortable having his head touched.

Steve stops sketching, the green pencil freezing in his hand. He looks at Bucky, who’s sitting across from him at the table, staring intently at Diesel on his doggy bed.

“I think it’s a bit too early for that, Buck.”

“It’ll always be too early. There’s no good time to start exposure therapy, you know that. You just gotta get in there and do it.”

Steve presses his lips together. “I think we should hold off.”

That’s clearly not what Bucky wants him to say. “Why?” he demands.

“Mostly because he’s a dog, not a human.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Rogers? That he ain’t worth the effort?”

Jesus. “Barnes, calm down. That’s not what I’m saying and you know it. Don’t be dumb. What I mean is, you’re comparing your situation with the dentist to Diesel and it’s not the same thing.”

“Of course it’s the same thing! I was scared of something so we practiced and practiced and eventually I was desensitized and that got me a mouth full of amazing teeth. I could have missed out on that if I kept living with that fear.”

“Buck, it’s not the same thing. You getting your teeth fixed was very important for your quality of life and your health. Diesel’s quality of life and his health ain’t been impacted because he doesn’t like having his head touched.”

“What if he gets an ear infection and we have to bring him to the vet? He’s gonna freak out.”

“We’d do what we did when you had to get those teeth out but you weren’t okay with the drill: we’d sedate him. That’s all.”

Bucky’s chewing on his lip. “But I want him to get over it.”

Steve sighs softly. “I know you do. But he’s not you. The only reason the exposure therapy was even an option for you is because you’re the one who wanted to go through with it. But Diesel can’t make that choice and I don’t wanna force him. When it’s something that’s important for his health or safety, sure, we don’t give him a choice, but this really isn’t such a big deal, Buck. He’s doing really well and I think we should just leave it.”

Bucky still looks unhappy about it. “How’s he gonna get better if we just ignore things like that?”

Steve rolls the green pencil between his fingers. “Because that ain’t something that he needs to get past in order to be happy.”

Bucky opens his mouth to argue, but Steve holds up the pencil. “Can I ask you one question, Buck? Only one question? And if you don’t get what I’m trying to say after I ask that question, then you can go ahead and start whatever training you want.”

 “One question?”

“Yeah. One question.”

Bucky exhales loudly, obviously annoyed. “Fine. Go ahead.”

“Why hasn’t anybody, including you, made you do exposure therapy about your shower issue?”

“What shower issue?”

Steve smiles. “You don’t even realize it, do you? You’re so used to it. Buck, you don’t shower.”

“I shower every day, moron.”

“With the water coming out of the showerhead? No, you don’t. You use the bath tub faucet. Since the day you came home, you can’t stand being anywhere near the tub when the water’s coming out of the showerhead. You’re so used to it by now that you don’t even think about it. So, back to my question: why haven’t we tackled it and fixed it? We could. I know we could. It might take a long time, but eventually I’m sure you’d be able to shower with the water coming out of the showerhead.”

Bucky’s gaze slowly drops to the table. “I forgot about that.”

Steve smiles gently. “I know. I forget about it too. Sometimes I remember, but I don’t say anything. You know why?”

“Cause it don’t really matter.”

“Exactly. I think Diesel’s fear of having his head touched is more like a ‘shower’ thing than a ‘dentist’ thing. He’s happy with the way things are and he’s safe and healthy. That’s all that matters.”

Bucky has a small smile. “Don’t you mean: dry, warm and safe? Those were the original criteria.”

Steve smiles back. “Diesel already has those things. I remember a certain Bucky Barnes started out working on those things, and once he had them, he started working on the next criteria: being happy and healthy. Diesel’s working on those things right now.”

“He’s moving through the steps faster than I did.”

“That’s because he has two experienced teachers helping him. You and I didn’t have a clue when you first came home. We had a steep learning curve along the way. Diesel’s getting the benefit of our hard work.”

Bucky stares at the table for a long time.

He’s quiet for so long that Steve goes back to working on his sketch.

Bucky eventually gets up and comes around to Steve’s side of the table. He wraps his arms around him and kisses Steve’s neck.

“I love you, you know that?” He whispers into Steve’s ear, his voice hoarse.

Steve smiles and reaches up to squeezes on his hands. “Yeah, I know.”

*             *             *

Death hasn’t bothered him in years. Neither has gore. It’s pretty much why being a paramedic is a good career choice for him. The sight of the teenager with stab wounds whose intestines were half hanging out of his stomach hadn’t phased him. The sight of the woman whose legs had torn off in a car accident hadn’t bothered him.

But suicide is different. Very different.

Yoo-Ra has told him multiple times that he’s lucky they haven’t had any suicide or murder calls yet—apparently they’re quite common—and he’s immensely grateful for every shift that goes by and they don’t get either of those call types.

Then he has his first suicide call.

It’s the Tuesday after a long weekend and the dispatcher gets a call from a pizza delivery place that’s worried about one of their regular customers. He usually orders from them every two days and he hasn’t missed an order in five years.

They hadn’t heard from him since last Thursday.

The police are already at the building when Steve pulls up. The cops get the man’s phone number from the pizza place and try calling him, but nobody picks up. They knock on his door and receive no response, so the man’s landlord opens the door and lets them in.

Steve and Yoo-Ra are outside, waiting for the cops to let them know what’s going on. Steve’s radio crackles to life and he hears one of the officers telling them they can come up and they’re dealing with a probable DOA.

The man is lying on his bed, fully dressed, a gun lying beside him.

While they’d waited, Steve had assumed they were dealing with an old man who has no family anymore. That would be bad enough.

Then he sees the man and realizes he’s in his mid-thirties.

 _Was_ in his mid-thirties.

Steve is frozen in the doorway of the bedroom and can’t seem to get his feet moving. Thankfully, he doesn’t need to. Yoo-Ra does a vital check and confirms what they all know: the man’s dead.

It looks like he’s been dead for several days already.

Yoo-Ra calls the hospital, relays all the information they know and the man is officially pronounced dead. The coroner is called and Yoo-Ra tells Steve they’re heading out. She tells the dispatcher that they’re ready to move on to the next call. She tells Steve she’ll do the paperwork when they’re having breakfast.

Steve numbly follows her out of the apartment and into the truck. It’s his turn to drive, but he automatically gets into the passenger side, hoping Yoo-Ra doesn’t mind.

Yoo-Ra puts her kit down and does up her seatbelt. But she doesn’t turn on the engine.

“Hey. Rogers. Look at me.”

He tears his gaze off a tree outside his window with some difficulty and turns to look at her.

“How are you feeling? I know it was your first.”

He opens his mouth but then closes it again. He finds that he really doesn’t want to have this conversation with Yoo-Ra. Sure, he likes her and he trusts her, but not with this.

“I’m—I’m okay. I was just surprised. Honestly, I thought he’d be on vacation.”

She gives him a sad smile. “Yeah. The first one is tough. If you wanna be successful in this job, you gotta just brush it off and move on. Get in there, do what you have to do, get out and do the paperwork when you have other paperwork to do. Move on to the next call as soon as possible. That’s what works for me.”

He nods, still feeling numb. “I—I’ll be fine. Can I—can you take point for the rest of the shift?”

She smiles. “Sure. Let me know if you want to stop a bit early, it’s no problem. Everybody has their first.”

He barely manages to get through the rest of his shift, relying on Yoo-Ra to push him in the right direction and give him instructions. He feels like a newbie again, but he doesn’t really care.

Thankfully they don’t get any difficult calls—or if they do, Yoo-Ra probably hands them off to somebody else without Steve even noticing—but the end of the shift can’t come soon enough for Steve.

He manages to make it home, only to discover that Bucky’s not there. He pulls out his phone with shaking hands and calls Bucky.

“Hi Stevie! How was work?”

Steve takes a deep breath. Just the sound of Bucky’s voice makes him feel better. “I didn’t have a good shift, Buck. Where are you?”

Bucky swears under his breath. “I’m just passing the museum. I’ve got a couple of dogs with me. I—Shit, I’ll call and cancel—”

“No, no, don’t cancel. Can you pick me up? I don’t wanna be alone.”

“Sure. Head outside and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Steve goes back outside and sits on the curb until he sees the silver van with the _Bucky’s Buddies_ logo on the side coming down the block. Bucky pulls over and gets out, hands reaching for Steve.

Steve stumbles up to him and lets Bucky pull him into a tight hug.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’ll be okay,” Bucky whispers into his hair, holding him close.

Steve closes his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of Bucky, his shampoo and dogs.

They stand on the sidewalk until Steve untangles himself. “Can I come with you?”

“Of course, sweetheart. You and Diesel can supervise.”

Steve goes to get into the passenger side, but sees that Suzy has claimed that spot. So Steve gets into the back, settling beside Diesel, who perks up immediately when he recognizes Steve. Steve pulls on his seatbelt and rubs Diesel’s side. Diesel snuffles his leg, his tail thumping against the door, his stuffed monkey trapped under one of his paws. The back of the van is full of various dogs, some of whom Steve recognizes. A few of them have a blue ‘Adopt Me’ scarf on them, indicating they’re from the shelter.

Steve feels a nudge by his legs and looks down to see little Molly trying to jump into his lap. He reaches down and scoops her up, letting the little Pomeranian lick his face. Then a wet nose shoves into his side and Steve sees Tobi out of the corner of his eyes. Tobi seems to recognize Steve’s mood and settles with his head on Steve’s lap, barely avoiding Molly.

Bucky drives and Steve distracts himself with their four legged friends until they get to one of the dog parks. Bucky gets everybody out and locks up the van, then pulls Steve to a nearby bench.

“Alright, tell me what happened.”

Steve stumbles through the story—the initial call from dispatch, the information they had gathered from the dispatcher and cops, finding the man in the bedroom and then barely being able to function through the rest of his shift. “He—He was _our age_ , Buck. And he had nobody. The only connection he had—the only people who really cared about him—were the pizza place guys and they probably only cared because he was a regular paying customer. He’d been there for days and nobody had looked for him. Nobody had missed him except a food delivery place.”

For the first time in years, Steve desperately wants to tell Bucky about the ticket incident.

Including the closet part.

He wants to tell him that the reason this whole thing is shaking him up so badly is because that could have been him.

It nearly was him.

If the closet bar hadn’t broken, how many days would it have been until somebody found him? Nobody would have missed him. Maybe SHIELD would have gotten concerned after a few weeks of not hearing from him. Maybe they would have sent somebody to check. But how many weeks would it have been before they bothered checking on him?

Not that he blames them. It wasn’t SHIELD’s responsibility to check on him. It wasn’t SHIELD’s fault that he had no support system.

Now Steve’s support system is the only thing that separates him from being that man.

He almost tells Bucky.

Almost.

He catches himself right before he opens his mouth.

No. He can’t do that to him. Bucky knows enough of his state of mind to understand why this is shaking him up—he doesn’t need to know something that will only cause him a lot of pain.

“He didn’t have anybody, Buck. Nobody who asked him about his day, nobody to hold him, nobody to tell him he was loved. That’s—that’s—I _know_ what it’s like to have nobody and that’s such a horrible way to live. I just—I wish everybody had a Bucky in their lives, you know?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Bucky lets out a breath, pulling Steve into his arms. He kisses the side of Steve’s face and squeezes him tight. “I—I feel terrible for that poor man. I feel terrible for you. It sucks. It really does.”

“Buck, I don’t know what I’d do if you ever left me,” he mumbles into Bucky’s shoulder.

“You don’t gotta worry about that because it won’t happen. You hear me, Rogers? It ain’t gonna happen. Ever. I’m with you til the end of the line, remember? I fell of the train at one point, but now I’m back on it and I’m staying until we get to the end.”

“I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

“That’s good. Cause I love you, Steve Rogers. Now and forever.”

They stay on the bench, Bucky making no move to loosen his hold on Steve. He calls out from time to time, yelling at Achilles to leave Molly alone and calling Suzy off somebody’s unsupervised lunch sitting on a picnic bench.

Diesel comes lumbering over to their bench and sits down, resting his head on Steve’s lap.

Steve smiles down at him, his head resting on Bucky’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy. How are you?”

Diesel looks up at him and thumps his tail happily. He’s drooling on Steve’s lap already. Steve puts a hand on Diesel’s back and pets him as they sit. Steve already feels much better, sitting there, surrounded by his family.

“Diesel’s moving a lot better. That supplement’s really helping huh?”

Bucky makes a noise of agreement. “Oh, yeah. He’s in a lot less pain, that’s for sure. Thank God for modern medicine, huh?”

They sit quietly until Achilles and Tobi go over to the van and start barking and jumping around, wanting something from inside.

Steve watches them. “You left the toys in there, huh?”

“Yup. Had bigger priorities when I let them out.”

Steve smiles and straightens up, kissing Bucky. “Go get their toys before they file a complaint.”

Bucky smiles, but he still looks worried. Steve gives him another kiss. “I’m okay. Go. Diesel and I will supervise.”

Bucky heads to the van and pulls out a bunch of toys that he hands out. Achilles tears the rope toy out of his hands and goes running off with it. Tobi picks up the tennis ball and eagerly waits while Bucky pulls out the plastic ball thrower.

Bucky makes his way to the center of the park and throws the ball for Tobi and plays tug-of-war with one of the shelter dogs. A man with two of his own dogs comes up to Bucky and Steve watches their conversation. Bucky pulls out a business card from his pocket and hands it to the man. They chat some more and then Bucky’s pulling out his phone, typing on it.

Maybe Buck just got a new customer.

Their conversation continues, then Bucky whistles and calls over one of the shelter dogs who has been wandering around with Suzy. Bucky and the man crouch down, examining the dog.

Steve smiles. He looks down at Diesel, who’s still sitting with his head on Steve’s lap, his eyes closed.

“Deeze, I think one of your former roommates may be getting adopted soon,” he tells him, leaning back against the bench, Diesel happily drooling on his thigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning (details): Steve has to respond to a call about man who has committed suicide by shooting himself while home alone. Steve and Yoo-Ra respond to the call but after determining the man is dead, they leave. The description of the man's body is non-graphic and he died several days before Steve and Yoo-Ra arrive on the scene.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! I hope you enjoy the last chapter!

 

 

Steve’s hanging shirts in his closet, still warm from the dryer. One of them falls off the hanger and he swears quietly as he bends over to pick it up. It falls behind some boxes so Steve has to rummage around before he manages to grab it.

Turns out the shirt has fallen on top of a familiar disc shape stored in a black, circular bag.

He pauses and fiddles with the shirt in his hands.

He hasn’t thought about the shield in months.

He hangs up the shirt and tugs the black bag out of the closet. He unzips a portion of it and peeks at the shining metal inside.

Diesel is lying on the ground behind him, watching him sort laundry. Seeing the strange object, he sits up, intrigued.

“You know what this is, Deeze? It’s my shield.” He unzips it fully and pulls out the large disk. He sits down on the ground, staring at the silver star in the center. The sunshine from the nearby window makes the surface gleam, the red and blue as beautiful and shiny as ever.

Diesel wanders over and carefully sniffs the shield, before deciding it’s not interesting and lying down by Steve’s side.

“Well, I guess it’s not my shield anymore. It’s Captain America’s shield. And I’m not Captain America anymore, am I?”

Diesel snuffles a bit, as if in agreement.

“You know what, Deeze? I think it’s time I got it out of here. It’s not respectful to Captain America to keep it in the back of closet, is it?” He thinks it over, trying to decide what on earth he should do with it.

But as soon as he asks himself who would give the shield the respect it deserves without abusing it, he has the answer.

He grins. “Deeze, come on. I have to write a letter and then we have a trip to make.”

It takes him half an hour to type up the letter, print it and sign it. Then he puts Diesel’s harness and leash on him—not that Diesel ever runs anywhere, but Bucky is terrified of being fined for not keeping Diesel on a leash, so it’s standard protocol—and puts on his jacket. He grabs the stuffed monkey, slings the shield bag over his shoulder and heads out with Diesel, stopping to grab the trailer before they head outside.

To his surprise, Diesel manages to walk the whole way there without any signs of pain or limping. They make it to their destination in good time and Diesel waits patiently next to his trailer while Steve heads inside. He doesn’t want to create a big fuss so he just drops off the bag and the letter with the front desk, leaving them his phone number in case they have any questions.

He doesn’t wait for them to open the bag or read the letter. He quickly ducks back out through the sliding glass doors and starts his journey home with Diesel. Diesel is definitely feeling the effects of the long walk, so Steve puts him into the trailer and they head home.

*             *             *

To Whom It May Concern,

I, Steven Grant Rogers, wish to donate the Captain America shield to the National Museum of American History museum to be added to the Captain America exhibit. Originally the shield was the property of the Strategic Scientific Reserve (SSR), which became the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, also known as S.H.I.E.L.D. Since S.H.I.E.L.D. no longer exists in any official capacity, I believe I’m the rightful owner of the shield, giving me the right to donate it to the museum.

I’ve retired from being Captain America and no longer need the shield. I’ve enjoyed the exhibit for many years and the museum has done a fantastic job of portraying Captain America’s history, accomplishments and legacy accurately, which is why I can’t think of a better place for the shield to be kept. I believe having the shield be part of the exhibit will enrich the experiences of the people visiting it.

The museum and its staff were a very important source of support to me during a time in my life when I had very little support. I spent many months visiting the exhibit, and the staff at the museum were always welcoming and always treated me with respect, but more importantly, they treated me as they would any other museum visitor. I hope the museum continues to be a success and provide education and enjoyment for many decades to come.

Please contact me if you have any questions regarding the shield, or if you would like any other information regarding Captain America.

Sincerely,

Steven Grant Rogers

*             *             *

Steve is woken up before his alarm goes off by somebody licking his hand, which is hanging off the bed. He opens one eye and squints in the direction of his hand.

Diesel is staring at him, so big that he’s practically eye-level with Steve. His tail starts wagging when he realizes Steve’s awake.

“Morning, Deeze,” he mumbles. Then he lets his eyes slide shut again.

He hears a muffled curse through the open bedroom door and then Bucky’s coming down the hallway, whispering frantically. “Deeze! Jesus Christ, what are you doing in there? Steve’s sleeping!” He steps into Steve’s bedroom, his face falling when he sees that Steve’s awake.

“It’s okay, Buck,” Steve mumbles into his pillow. “I’m awake. Sorta. It’s my fault anyway—I thought I shut my door properly.”

Bucky’s giving Diesel a stern look, who seems to misinterpret it because he just wags his tail harder, looking back and forth between Steve and Bucky.

Bucky groans. “Come on, Deeze. Let’s get out of here and let Steve sleep.”

“No, Steve wants cuddles more than sleep.”

Bucky grins. “Do you want Bucky cuddles or Diesel cuddles?”

“Both,” Steve mumbles.

So Bucky gets one of Diesel’s towels and spreads it over half of Steve’s bed and lifts Diesel up. Diesel immediately lies down, snuggling into Steve’s side, happily drooling on the towel. Bucky wriggles onto the bed on Steve’s other side. He lifts Steve a bit and slides under him, draping him over his chest and tugging the blanket down around them.

Steve wiggles around happily, very pleased to be wedged between them. He’s got one arm slung over Diesel, and the other crawling under Bucky’s shirt. “I got my two best fellas. Much better than sleeping.”

Bucky smiles and runs gentle fingers through his hair.

Steve snuggles into Bucky’s shirt, sighing happily. He rubs Diesel’s tummy, who snuffles happily, drooling onto the towel. “I’m amazed the three of us fit on this bed.”

Bucky chuckles. “I’m amazed the bed doesn’t collapse when we do this.”

“How was running with Nat?”

“Good.”

“You feel ready for the marathon?”

“Yup. After last weekend, my legs are as ready as they’ll ever be.”

Steve smirks. “I told you: the reason you got to pull Deeze the whole way to Maryland and back was for the exercise. You’re the one training for a marathon, not me. I was only thinking of you.”

“Uh huh. Thank you for making the huge sacrifice of _not_ pulling a hundred and fifty pounds of extra weight with you.”

“Hey, I had the backpack with all of our stuff, and Diesel’s food isn’t exactly light. And I did let you lie around that night while I showed you how grateful I was.”

Bucky smiles. “Yeah, you did. That made up for it.”’

“Of course it did.”

Bucky laughs and smacks Steve on the ass. “My legs didn’t stop feeling like jelly until Wednesday. Anyway, I’ll be good to go. Nat feels good too. You took the day off, right?”

“Yup.”

“Excellent. We need our cheering section.”

Steve smiles. “I’ll be there, along with Cheerleader Wilson.”

“I don’t know about you but it’s the promise of eating Sam’s barbecue chicken afterwards that’s gonna get me through the last mile.”

Steve snorts a laugh.

“Well, that and the promise of Steve Rogers kisses at the finish line.”

Steve sleepily rubs his face on Bucky’s shirt. “Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you think about moving?”

Bucky starts shifting off the bed, but Steve clamps an arm around his waist. “No, not like that. I meant us, moving.”

“Moving what?”

“Not what. Where.”

Bucky frowns down at him. Steve twists around so he’s propped up on Bucky’s chest, facing him.

“What do you mean ‘moving where’? I think you need more sleep, Rogers.”

Steve pokes him in the side. “I’m being serious, Barnes. I think we’ve outgrown this place. It would be nice to have more space, wouldn’t it?”

“More space for what?”

“Well, take the table for example. We’re constantly moving stuff and re-arranging everything when we need to do something on it. I think it would be nice if you had a separate room for your office. You could spread out your papers and keep things organized and you wouldn’t have to move stuff every time we wanna eat. And think about Diesel. How great would it be to have a backyard? He could be inside or outside all day, whenever he wanted and he wouldn’t have to wait for us to carry him in and out.”

Bucky looks thoughtful. “It would be nice to have a bigger living room. More room for Diesel’s stuff and ours. Oh!” His eyes light up. “You could have an art room! You wouldn’t have to move stuff all the time. You could actually do those big canvases you’ve always wanted to try!”

Steve smiles. “And a bigger kitchen would be nice too. We wouldn’t be tripping over each other all the time.”

Bucky grins at him. “Steve Rogers, are you honestly saying your little bubble is too small for you?”

Steve mirrors his grin. “I know. I can’t believe it. My bubble is too small for me.”

Bucky lifts his head and kisses Steve. “The answer is yes. I think moving into a bigger place would be really nice.” He turns his head and looks at Diesel, whose eyes are darting between Steve and Bucky. “What do you think, buddy? Would you like a backyard that’s all yours? And a doggy bed that’s even bigger?”

Diesel’s tail thumps on the blanket. Steve puts his head back on Bucky’s chest, a warm glow in his chest.

*             *             _Seven Months Later_         *             *

Steve turns up the driveway and pulls the motorcycle into the open garage next to the van. He turns the bike off and pulls off his helmet.

The door leading into the house opens and a teenage boy comes through, a backpack and jacket swinging from his hands.

“Hey, Steve!”

Steve smiles. “Hi, Latwon! Heading home?”

“Yup. We just got back a little while ago.”

“Buck’s inside?”

“He’s out back with Alina and the dogs,” he says, pulling on his jacket.

“How are things at home? Baby’s doing well?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s pretty much done teething now so that whole drama’s behind us.”

Steve laughs. “I’m glad. I saw your ma at the restaurant for lunch. She says you passed your science test.”

He grins. “Of course I did. How can I fail when I’ve got James quizzing me non-stop during my shift?”

“Believe me, I know what that feels like, but it’s worth it, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m real happy with how I did. Anyway, you have a good night and can you tell James I’m starting Thursday at Ajay’s, then I’m heading to Ed’s and I’ll meet him at the park?”

“You got it. Bye, Latwon.”

“Bye, Steve!” Latwon squeezes beside the van and pulls his bicycle out onto the driveway. He puts his helmet on, slings his backpack over his shoulders and coasts down the driveway.

Steve watches him go, then presses the button to close the garage door. He shoves his way through the door into the house, kicks off his shoes, crams his feet into his Hulk slippers, drops his backpack by the door and goes wandering into the house.

“I’m home!” he calls.

“We’re out back!” He hears Bucky call back.

Steve makes his way through the kitchen and pushes open the screen door.

Bucky’s on the patio swing and Alina’s in her lounge chair. Diesel and Suzy are relaxing on the patio in the shade but they both clamber to their feet and hurry over to greet him.

Steve crouches down and pets both of them. “Hi guys! How are you? You guys enjoying being lazy on the patio, huh?”

He goes to the chairs and leans down to kiss Alina on the cheek. “Hi. How are you?”

She smiles. “Good. I finished the quilts. You come down after your dinner and get them.”

“Okay. Is the sink still dripping?”

“Yes. You can see that before you see the blankets.”

Steve snorts. “Looking at it is all I’ll manage, you know that. I ain’t good at those things.”

She laughs. “You’re terrible landlord, Steve. James is much better.”

“Hey, I’m the moral support, that’s very important.”

“Yes, very important. Moral support gets a quilt. Fixing the sink will get the bigger quilt, but moral support will get a quilt too.”

“Who’s getting the bigger quilt?” Bucky calls over from the porch swing.

Steve squeezes Alina’s shoulder and heads towards Bucky. “Whoever fixes the sink.”

“So it’ll be me.”

Steve bends down to give him a kiss. Bucky’s hands reach up and tug Steve down on his lap. Steve makes himself comfortable, half on Bucky and half on the swing.

Bucky grins at him. “If you’re nice to me, I’ll share the big quilt and we can have two quilts to snuggle in.”

Steve buries his face into Bucky’s shoulder. “That’s a deal. By the way, Latwon says he’ll see you at the park on Thursday. He’s going to Ajay’s and Ed’s first.”

“Okay.”

Steve kisses Bucky’s shoulder. “Hi, Barnes.”

Bucky smiles. “Hi, Rogers. Had a good day at work?”

“Uh huh. Busy. I’ll spare you the details, but please, please, be careful when using power tools, okay? Also, always, _always_ look both ways before crossing the street, okay?”

Bucky chuckles and gently pushes the swing so it sways back and forth. “Yes, sir.”

“How was your day?”

“Oreo got adopted.”

“That’s great!”

They laze on the swing for a while, enjoying the sunshine. Diesel comes wandering over and lies down at their feet, panting quietly.

“I heard Latwon passed his science test,” Steve says.

“Uh huh. Not a surprise. Kid’s pretty damn smart when he’s got the time and puts in the effort.”

Steve smiles. “Your nagging helps too.”

“What you call nagging, I call relentless quizzing.”

A chunk of Bucky’s hair has gotten loose from its bun and Steve brushes it behind his ear. Bucky makes a face and reaches up to touch his hair.

“Is it a mess? I didn’t make it inside after bringing the dogs out here. I’ve been lazy.”

Steve smiles. “Shove over.” Bucky shifts around and Steve pulls the elastic out of his hair. He slowly runs his fingers through the dark strands, taking his time collecting them and making a bun.

“There. You’re back to being the picture of perfection. Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you happy?”

Bucky frowns at him. “Of course I am, sweetheart. Are you?”

“Yeah. I—Sometimes I think this is all too good to be real.”

Bucky tightens his arms around him. “It’s all real. Of course it’s real. We worked really hard to get here and every bit of it’s real. We’re home, Stevie. It took us a damn long time, but we’re home.”

Steve smiles. “This whole twenty-first century thing ain’t so bad after all.”

Bucky mirrors his smile and kisses his temple. “No, it ain’t. We figured it out, Stevie. I knew we would. Took us seventy years, but we made it home.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this journey as much as I have! Thank you for taking the time to leave kudos and comments along the way. They truly mean the world to me.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[ART] Here We Mark the Price of Freedom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10953420) by [LABB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LABB/pseuds/LABB)




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